


Kismet

by Lyrae



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Chaptered, Dammit Jim, Emotional Manipulation, Fate, Fluff and Angst, Jim Has Issues, Kid Jim, Kid Jim Moriarty, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Mycroft's Meddling, POV Jim Moriarty, POV Mycroft Holmes, POV Sebastian Moran, POV Sherlock Holmes, Poison, Sherlock Being a Good Brother, Time Travel, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23768116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrae/pseuds/Lyrae
Summary: 1986.Mycroft Holmes entered his private study and found a newspaper accompanied with a slip of paper on his desk.It wasn't any newspaper though, it came from 25 years in the future and announced his brother's suicide.The words etched on the paper slip?'Find James Moriarty. '
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Jim Moriarty, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/James Moriarty, Mycroft Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sebastian Moran & Jim Moriarty, Sebastian Moran/James Moriarty, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 69
Kudos: 39





	1. Find James Moriarty

**Author's Note:**

> This is already finished and I will post a chapter every two/three days so I hope y'all are ready for a ride! 
> 
> Beta-ed by Cindertail! 
> 
> (https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cindertail/pseuds/Cindertail)  
> \------------
> 
> kismet  
> /ˈkɪzmɛt/  
> noun  
> destiny; fate.

_If you could go back in time, just once, just for a few minutes, what would you do?_

  


Nothing.

  


That had always been Mycroft's answer, because surely nothing was important enough to risk space-time continuum, and yet, that didn't explain the impossibility sitting on his desk. 

He was in his private house in London, the one watched over by more cameras than even he could count, inside his hidden study, and yet a newspaper had made his way to this room.

It wasn't just any newspaper though...

  


_The Sun._

  


Usually, he wouldn't have spared it another glance after seeing that name but this time, maybe because of the place where he had found it, maybe because of the fresh blood splattered on the clipping, he had read on.

  


_Suicide of fake genius._

  


It was written in big, bold, white letters, taking most of the page and leaving only the right bottom corner for the picture.

The man staring back at him, with his face half hidden beneath his deerstalker hat and his lips twisted in annoyance was strangely familiar and his brain scurried to remember where he had seen those features before.

After a second, a single face, a single name came back to him, a dark-haired boy with glaring blue eyes, younger, softer, but unmistakably the same.

  


Sherlock.

  


_Fraudulent detective takes his own life._

  


_Sherlock Holmes._

  


It didn't make any sense, the headline, the picture, the date, nothing of it seemed even real.

  


_2011, 25 years in the future_.

  


Sherlock would be framed and either kill himself to clean his name or be murdered by the one accusing him, because Mycroft knew his brother, and there was no way the other would ever become a fake.

There was another piece of paper, lying next to the newspaper article, half crumpled, half torn, the handwriting twisted but still unmistakably his. 

An intricate pattern, lines intertwining and crossing, next to three words.

  


_Find James Moriarty_.

  


Without that symbol, he would have certainly been unsettled by the documents yet wouldn't have acted on them, but seeing as it was there...

Mycroft had created it when he had been 12, he had just finished a book about a time traveler leaving hints to his past self but failing to change the future as his previous incarnation never believed the warnings, and so he had decided something like that should never happen to him.

He had created a sigil, keeping it hidden deeply inside his mind palace, never allowing himself to draw it anywhere for fear that someone might guess its function and use it against him.

Kismet, fate, the letters twisted and mixed until they were unrecognizable. 

It would be bad if someone ever learnt it as he had promised himself he would believe anything accompanied with that sigil, no matter how outlandish it seemed. 

He was the only person to know it after all, so if he saw it anywhere, it was either from the future or something that he had been forced to forget.

  


_Find James Moriarty._

  


The words suddenly stopped, like the person- himself he knew but refused to think - had meant to write more but hadn't had the time.

Find him, and then what?

Was that James supposed to save his brother? Or doom him?

There was no way to know, but if his future self had only written that, it must mean that he believed in his own judgement...

Maybe HE had to be the one to decide whether that person would live or die, whether they were an ally or a threat.

  


_'Find James Moriarty' it said, so Mycroft did._

  


\---------

  


The fact that he only held _'a small position in the government'_ meant that even if he was still young, he had access to every files in the archives as long as they weren't classified.

The problem however, was that ordinary people had no reason to be in here.

But apparently James Moriarty was no ordinary man... Or more precisely, he was, but he worked for the government so he had a file in here.

His search took him a few days worth of snooping, but he ultimately found a promising lead, a James Moriarty living near Dublin, a seemingly average middle-aged man mayor of a small Irish village.

The next day, he was taking his first holiday leave since his entrance in the government and waiting for his train to arrive in Dublin.

  
  


\-----------

  
  


"You are here on the behalf of the government? Why? Is something wrong? "

  


Mycroft forced himself to smile, plastering a pleasant expression on his face.

He had arrived at his destination an hour ago and had easily gotten an audience with one James Moriarty in his large house near the outskirts of the village.

James Moriarty was... Normal.

Normal in everything he did, said or tried to hide, normal down to his bones, to the organs that kept him alive, to the very blood that flowed through his veins.

  


_'Find James Moriarty. '_ his future self had asked, but Mycroft really couldn't fathom what he was supposed to do with the man now that he was here.

  


"No, nothing is wrong Mayor, I was just tasked to inspect the town but I am afraid the reason why is classified. "

  


Like the dull, ordinary man he was, the other blanched and became as quiet as the goldfish he was emulating, looking quite unsettled by the thought of something 'classified' happening around his town.

  


"I see... Then how long will you stay? Do you already know where you will sleep? "

  


' _Long enough to understand why I needed to find you, and is there really a need to ask such questions? '_

  


"A few days, and thank you for your kind offer Mr Moriarty! "

  


"I-" the man gaped, are loss for words.

  


Mycroft didn't allow his smile to sharpen, but he had the feeling his icy eyes were more telling anyway.

  


"I look forwards to staying in your company! "

  


There was nothing the other could say to refuse that wouldn't sound horribly offending...

And no one wanted to offend one's superiors, however young they looked.

  


"Of course. " the older man ultimately said with a smile, the expression painfully plastered on his face "I will prepare one of the guest room. "

  


And with that his first conversation with one James Moriarty was over.

  
  


\-----------

  


When Mycroft came out of the room, he didn't think he would come face to face with a little eavesdropper.

He opened the door, hearing the characteristic sound made by crumpled fabric and immediately looked in that direction, catching a mop of black hair before the intruder scurried off.

Not one to let go that easily, he slowly approached the corner where the other had disappeared and saw dark eyes shining in the dark, a young boy half hidden beneath the staircases.

Noticing that there was no way to escape now, the child stood up, flicking invisible specks of dust away from his jumper, staring at him as if daring him to say anything.

  


"You played him. " he ultimately said after a second, prompting Mycroft to smirk ever so slightly.

  


"Oh? What makes you say that, Mr...? "

  


Even though he had trailed off, obviously waiting for a name, the boy didn't provide one.

  


"You wanted to stay here all along, it's obvious, but what I don't get is the reason why. "

  


"If you give me your name, I might just tell you my reasons. "

  


There was a silence and then a scoff accompanied with rolled eyes.

  


"Might? That's not a good bargain. "

  


_'Oh, he had caught that? '_

  


His eyes sharpened ever so slightly, but his smile, now more innocuous, stayed on his face.

  


"Alright, I will tell you then. "

  


The child seemed to consider his offer during a few, interminable seconds, and then grinned broadly before speaking again, the name rolling off his chapped lips and drifting in the air between them.

  


"James Moriarty. "

  


_Find James Moriarty_.

  


"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr Moriarty... As for the reason of my visit? You of course. "

  


And during that instant, Mycroft knew more than he had ever known anything else that the message was about the son and not the father. 

  


\-------------

  


_'You of course. '_

  


It sounded improbable, impossible, and yet, those were the words that had just left the stranger's mouth.

  


"Me? What do you mean? "

  


Jim didn't know who that man was, but what he did know was that he had gotten exactly what he wanted from his conversation with his father...

That in itself wasn't that hard, but it was the first time he saw someone other than himself do it.

The other shook his head, tutting disapprovingly.

  


"Now now, I answered your question already, I'm afraid I already upheld my end of the bargain."

  


_What?_

  


"It was a pleasure to meet your Mr Moriarty."

  


And just like that, he turned away and left.

Jim wasn't the kind of boy to give up so easily though, and so he quickly followed him, walking a few meters behind him, out of notice, as he crossed the streets and spoke with the shop owners. 

The man didn't seem very interested in his conversations, he entered the various buildings, smiled and talked for a maximum of five minutes and then left-

  


"If you were this curious, you could have just asked."

  


The boy scowled, defiantly meeting the pair of light eyes.

  


"I did. "

  


' _You didn't answer.'_

  


The other smiled, unbothered by the accusation.

  


"I told you, I am here because of you James... Because you are special and so am I. "

  


_Special?_

  


"You're not a goldfish. "

  
  


\----------

  
  


Mycroft watched as surprise flickered on the boy's face, soon replaced by confusion and just the slightest hint of anger.

The boy certainly didn't seem amused, he even looked a tiny bit murderous beneath his calm exterior.

  


"What are you playing at? "

  


"I'm not playing Mr Moriarty... " he sighed, the gears of his mind turning at full speed, trying to find a good explanation for his presence here. "I have made it my goal to find gifted children and help them access education like I had the chance to access it. "

  


That, contrary to his expectations, didn't seem to placate the boy and he only looked more suspicious, his childish face twisting in distrust.

  


"Why would you do that? What do you want in exchange?"

  


Mycroft let the silence settle between them like a soft blanket, waiting, pondering, and when he spoke again, his words rippled through the silence, breaking the stillness.

  


"I am simply bored. "

  


It was simple, too simple perhaps, he hadn't used pretty words and prettier lies, yet, the child smiled like he had never smiled before.

Maybe it was because it was the truth, maybe it was because he had recognised himself in the explanation, but James accepted it... Accepted him.

  


"Alright. "

  
  


\----------

  
  


After that conversation, Mycroft stayed at the Moriartys' manor, still acting like he was conducting some kind of important business while starting to work once more from afar.

It was quite annoying to not be able to directly talk to someone when he needed something do, but that gave him the opportunity to observe James Moriarty Jr, the way he acted, how he looked when he came back from school, how he lived through an ordinary day.

In more ways that he had thought possible, the boy was like Sherlock.

He was smart, too smart for his peers, making absolutely no effort to fit in, unlike Mycroft, and he flew through different obsessions in the span of a week while still ultimately coming back to a particular discipline.

For his brother, that discipline had always been chemistry and crime solving, experimentating for hours upon hours with chemicals in a corner of his room.

For Jim, it was mathematics, and anything that could somehow be linked back to it.

The boy saw the world, even people, in equation, everything, from a leaf to a complex thought pattern, from a line of code in a computer to a flying butterfly, absolutely everything, could be deconstructed into numbers.

  


' _Find James Moriarty_. ' that piece of paper had said, and now he was beginning to understand why.

  


That boy was destined for Sherlock, wasn't he? He was his reflection, his mirror image, and Mycroft didn't doubt, even for one second, that they would get along splendidly well.

  
_'Either that or tear into each other. '_ whispered a voice in a dark part of his mind, but he ignored it, pushing it back as far as he could.

  
  


It should have been obvious though, that a genius like him would seek the work of other geniuses, and it should have been evident that he would find the books written by the Holmes matriarch at some point...

But for some reasons, Mycroft hadn't thought that he would, and he certainly hadn't thought he would send him a letter.

When he learned about it, he was furious.

He didn't hit the boy, of course he didn't, but his words stroke the younger like a slap, sharp and unexpected.

  
  


"Do not contact my family James. "

  
  


The child looked up with wide, shocked eyes, obviously trying to understand what was the problem with his behaviour.

  
  


"Why? I just wanted to discuss one of the formulas a bit! I didn't mention you or anything-" he started to defend himself only to be cut by an icy voice and icier eyes.

  
  


' _Why?_ ' that dark voice repeated from its hiding spot in the back of his mind _'why keep him from Sherlock when you ultimately plan to push them together? '_

  
  


The boy wasn't ready yet, Mycroft needed to mold him, shape him into a man that would match his brother as well as anchor him.

If they met right now, their fires would mix, feed on each other until the world was a blazing inferno...

At least that was what he told himself.

  


"Do. Not. Contact. Them. "

  


There was no explanation, no justification, just an unbreakable wall crashing right in front of the boy.

Jim bit his lips, still lost.

  


"Why? "

  


He did not get any answer that day or the days that followed


	2. Threats and repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say I would post every 2/3 days earlier? Yesssss, but anyway! 
> 
> Here's the second chapter, I hope you will like it! 
> 
> TW for homophobic slurs and underage kissing in this chapter
> 
> Beta-ed by Cindertail!

Carl Powers was annoying, annoying in a remote kind of way, sure, he liked to insult him and beat him up, but most days, Jim wasn't even aware of his existence, too lost in his daydreams, too engrossed by his own mind.

Carl Powers was annoying, but he had never really mattered, never meant anything to him-

"I saw you with your boyfriend yesterday... I knew you were a freak, but isn't he a bit old for you Jimmy-boy?"

Jim froze, completely immobile, his face carefully blank.

"What?"

That only made the other more confident, a cocky grin plastered on his infuriating face.

"Don't play dumb faggot, we both know what I'm talking about, or rather who. I heard that he's staying at your house... Wouldn't your dear daddy be interested in knowing his son's boyfriend?" he taunted, making the smaller boy tense unconsciously.

"What do you want?"

It was more a low hiss than anything but it seemed to be enough for Carl.

"That's the thing Jimmy, I don't want anything from you or from your sugar daddy, I just want to see everyone's reactions when they learn how much of a freak you are." It was said slowly, smugly, like he had no reason to haste his words now that he had won.

"I'll give you until next week since I have the swimming competition, maybe you should run away or something... At least your dad wouldn't be able to kill you right? "

And he looked so sure of himself, so cocky...

Jim smiled, his dark eyes blazing, burning behind his lowered eyelids, and Powers saw nothing, not the murderous resolve, not the savage determination, not the glint that spoke of violence and agony.

Powers saw nothing of that and walked away with a smirk, ignoring that every step he took brought him closer to death.

  
  


\----------

  
  


Mycroft was visiting his parents and his brother when he heard the news.

Carl Powers, a student of Jim's class, had drowned during the swimming competition that brought him to London.

"A fit? Why would a boy with no previous medical history have a fit? That's just stupid. " Sherlock had commented when he had seen the papers.

The remark had seemed off-hand at first, but his brother had ultimately insisted on visiting London to inspect the pool himself, cursing his incapacity to visit the Irish village during the whole train ride.

"Why would you want to visit the town?" the older had asked, looking at the moving scenery in an effort to keep his thoughts off Jim.

He couldn't help but wonder though, if it wouldn't be for the best if the two boys finally met now...

Sherlock had scowled and had seemed ready to ignore him for a long instant, but he had ultimately answered:

"If Powers was really killed, the only suspects are in that village, in his school, his neighborhood... Most people are murdered by someone they know after all."

_ Someone they know... _

  
  


_ "It's nothing. " Jim had said one day when he had come back with a split lip and bruised limbs. _

_ "Who?" Mycroft had insisted, and the younger had replied: _

_ "Does it really matter? It was Powers, one of my classmate, the stupidest goldfish of the bowl." _

  
  


It couldn't be him, could it? 

Jim had been bullied, but was that a reason big enough to kill someone...?

Anyway, whether he was guilty or not, at least Sherlock seemed alive for once, animed by some kind of frantic energy, almost jittery, ready to pounce out of the train the second the doors opened.

Their little trip ended up being half-successful : they knew that the shoes had disappeared from Carl's locker but the police had closed the case, refusing to investigate any further, and Mycroft hadn't wanted to interject himself so Sherlock's demands had been refused.

Once they were back home, the older found a reason to excuse himself, and left as soon as he could towards Ireland.

  
  


\----------

  
  


"What have you done James? " he hissed as soon as he saw the young boy, not even bothering to greet him, gripping his arm and yanking him into an empty room.

The other winced but it was obvious it was more caused by Mycroft's reaction than by any kind of guilt.

"What are you talking about?"

"Powers."

The silence stretched between them, one second, then two, and he would have started shaking Jim if he had been any less patient.

"What of him?" and that question wasn't even asked in faked innocence, no, the boy was simply staring blankly, looking honestly curious.

_ 'What is the problem? So what if he's dead?' _ he implied with his every actions.

"You killed him."

Jim smiled, smoothly agreeing with the accusation.

"I did."

So-

_ What? _

"Why?"

_ 'Why did you kill him?' _

Memories of Carl grinning, of threats and insults, of prevented pain and heartbreak.

The boy didn't voice his thoughts though, he didn't reveal that he had killed to protect him and their relationship, didn't admit the real reason as he didn't want their bond to break under the strain, their special something to shatter under the pressure.

"He laughed at me so I stopped him laughing."

Surprise, realization, anger.

"You killed Powers because he was bullying you?"

_ No, of course not, he had never cared before, why would that have changed now? _

Jim licked his lips and let a grin stretch his features, smiling like the cat that had managed to eat the neighbor's bird.

"Yes."

  
  


\----------

  
  


Discovering that your protege was a murderer was not something Mycroft had ever wanted to experience, and yet, here he was, staring at the younger, his face pulled in displeasure.

He didn't look apologetic in the slightest, if anything, there was even something akin to pride in the way he held himself...

But couldn't he be proud?

Even if it had been a petty murder, he had still managed to pull it off perfectly when he was still ten, and Mycroft himself wouldn't have been sure his intuition was right if the shoes hadn't been missing.

"Why the shoes?" he asked, now more curious than angry.

"They were just a little souvenir, nothing more."

"That could have been dangerous."

The boy looked up almost hopefully when he heard the lack of judgement, the simple criticism, asking, yearning for acceptance.

"I'll be more careful from now on."

It was obvious the words had been automatic, spilling out of his mouth before he could stop them, and that he meant nothing in particular by them, but still, Mycroft couldn't help but wonder... Would there be a next time?

Would his James kill again?

  
  


...

  
  


_ Did he want him to? _

The older opened his arms, an invitation, an offer, and Jim practically threw himself at him, nuzzling against his chest when his arms closed around his small frame.

  
  


_ No. _

  
  


…

  
  


_ Would he ask him to? _

Mycroft brushed a strand of hair away from the boy's face and grinned when a pair of onyx eyes looked up to meet his gaze.

"Would you like to play a game James? "

_ Yes. _

\------------

The game, as they had taken to calling it after that initial conversation, was simple.

Mycroft would give him a puzzle, a problem that needed to be solved, a problematic diplomat or some object that the government wanted to acquire, and Jim would plan the solution, fix the conundrum.

Most of the times, the requests were easy, boring, things that the other could have easily done on his own but didn't have the time to bother himself with, but ever so rarely, he had real challenges, things that made his mind churn and adrenaline pump into his veins.

The boy found himself liking it, liking the puzzles and the way it took his thoughts away from the colorless boredom of the ordinary world, the way it made him discover more about the society surrounding him and the power plays inside it.

In order to see him more often now that his 'official government business' had been over for a few months, Mycroft had offered him a scholarship in a school near London offering special classes for gifted children.

It still was extremely dull but at least the others in his year weren't trying to actively annoy him, too occupied by their own studies, and now, he could spend all of his afternoons in one of the other's house.

He knew it wasn't his principal one but it was at a few minutes walk away from the school so that meant he could immediately go there after his classes ended.

Mycroft wasn't always there, most of the times he only came home late, infuriated by his day's work, sighing because of some of his useless assistants, but sometimes, once in a while, he would work from home and Jim would be able to observe him as he typed and made phone calls.

It was quiet, peaceful, ordinary even... But somehow, it was those moments he loved the best.

  
  


\----------

  
  


Mycroft was sitting on the couch, reading with Jim half-sprawled in top of him like he often was.

Everything was quiet, peaceful, the silence only broken by the soft sound of their breathing, the periodic inhales and exhales somehow matching each other, the air dancing, twirling from their mouths to their lungs.

Jim propped himself up, looked into his eyes, and then softly pressed their lips together.

At first, Mycroft didn't react, too shocked by the gesture, too surprised by the movement, too lost in the instant, but his mind got back in control and he moved away, staring at the younger.

"You're eleven Jim!" he hissed sharply.

That didn't seem to faze the younger though, and he seemed more lost than anything.

"So what?"

_ 'We're special aren't we? ' _

Mycroft sighed, refusing to look at the other.

"I am not kissing an eleven-year-old, I simply can't, you're too young."

How could he kiss the boy when even his own brother, who was already three years older than Jim, was still a child?

Said boy pouted, sulking for a moment before brightening up once more.

"You didn't say no though."

_ 'Just that I was too young' _ was left unsaid.

The older stayed silent, his face half hidden behind his book, but he did not deny it either, and that was all Jim needed.

  
  


\----------

He hadn't said no, that was true, but Mycroft himself couldn't even understand why.

Jim had never been meant for him, destined to stay at his side, that was the first thing he had decided when he had found him after all, that the boy would be Sherlock's.

At first he kept them apart because he was worried they were just too alike and would burn the world to the ground, afterwards it had been because he had felt like they weren't interested in the same things, and so he had told his protege more about his brother, feeding him with stories of their childhood in an effort to make him the perfect match.

Jim always seemed to make things revolve around the older though.

When Mycroft told him about an incident with Sherlock in middle school, his first question was to know his reaction, when he would share some details about his brother, the boy would always inquire about his own interests.

When he asked him if he wanted to pick up an instrument, he had fully expected him to choose the violin like his future counterpart, but the child had smiled before answering:

"You play the piano right? Can I learn it too?"

"Sherlock plays the violin."

Jim had frowned, seeming almost angered by the answer, but the next second it was gone and he was smiling brightly.

"But piano does go well with violin doesn't it?"

And Mycroft had accepted to teach him.

  
  


\----------

  
  


When the older had told him to stay away from his family, Jim had thought it would be a permanent decision, but apparently, if Mycroft's actions were to be believed, he had been wrong.

He wouldn't speak so much about his family and his brother if he wanted him to stay away, would he?

It was always Sherlock, every time they spoke, it was about him to some extent, " _ Sherlock did that as a kid", "Sherlock dreamed of doing that", "Sherlock loves that", Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock, _ until he would have been able to write the boy's biography without asking him a single questions.

He didn't care about the younger Holmes, so he would always turn the conversation towards Mycroft, trying to learn more about the elusive man. 

The other didn't avoid his questions per se, and he did answer most of the times, but he never provided information without being asked first.

It was like he didn't even think Jim would,  _ should _ , be interested in him, and he always seemed somewhat shocked by the inquiries, like he didn't understand why he might be more interested by the man that had literally saved him from neverending boredom than by a boy he had never met.

_ Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock _ , it was the only name in his lips.

Mycroft insisted that he took more courses on the subjects his brother liked and completely dropped others, trying to mold him into someone he wasn't, and Jim obeyed, he heeded the man's words, happy to see him smile even if it was on someone else's behalf.

When he asked him to choose an instrument though... He couldn't resist the temptation, the occasion was just too good to pass. 

He chose the piano and lied, saying he only wanted to be able to accompany Sherlock when in fact, he only wished to sit close to Mycroft and have him gently place his hands on the note. 

If he made more mistakes than he usually would, the other didn't seem to notice.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you thought! :)


	3. Tic TAC, hide before the impact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am with the third chapter! 
> 
> Like always, this is beta-ed by Cindertail :)

Jim was 14 when one day he made his pen fall under a cabinet of Mycroft's study and discovered a watch covered in dust next to the offending utensil.

  
The poor thing looked like someone had stepped on it, which was certainly the case, smashed beyond repair with shards of glass and gears sticking out sharply.

  
From where he was kneeling, almost laying on the floor in order to reach far enough, he could see that one of the floorboards on the other side of the room was just a tiny bit too salient, but he was so engrossed in his present task that he pushed the information in the back of his mind.

  
Jim gently cradled the broken watch before laying it on the table and examining it with careful gestures, trying to assess whether or not it could actually be saved

  
"You are interested in watchmaking now?"

  
Jim winced when he heard Mycroft's tone, idly playing with the smashed gears.

The other never liked it when his protege showed interest to 'useless' things, things that made him stray away from Sherlock's interests...

  
"I just want to repair it." he replied defensively.

  
Neither of them asked where it came from, Jim assuming it was Mycroft's while said man simply didn't care.

  
"Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me?"

  
The older's voice was dry, annoyed even as a minuscule hint of amusement managed to seep through the ice.

  
"Just so."

  
He held the watch in the air, making sure none of the broken bits would fall off, his eyes sharpening when a carved word on the metal caught the light.

 _Kismet_.

  
\----------

  
The watch was Mycroft's twenty third birthday present.

It had taken him a few months to pick up enough skills in watchmaking to attempt repairing it and a few more to get or make all of the components he lacked.

It could have been finished a lot quicker if Jim had only fixed it, but he had wanted to make something special, something unordinary, something that would remind Mycroft of his existence every-day of his life, as long as he wore the watch.

So he had made calculations and had sculpted himself the gears to make sure they fit precisely his measurements, had tweaked and twisted the watch interior's until no one but him could tell how it was actually supposed to work.

When he was done, when he had finished carving the stars and the constellations near the quadrant, when the clock hands had been attached once more to the rest of the mechanism, when he had finally closed the glass over his work, he had delicately laid it in a box and wrapped it with an elaborate bow. 

The moment Mycroft saw the watch, he immediately recognised it, remembering the state it had been in before Jim had decided to repair it.

  
"You fixed it. For me."

  
Familiar words, a used expression, but usually, there was always the slightest bite behind them, that little thing that sneered at his hobbies and looked down on him from the skies above.

It wasn't there right now though, not today, not as Jim took out the present and gently wrapped it around the other's wrist.

  
"Yes I did."

  
There was nothing else to add, they both knew it, so Mycroft smiled and did the only thing that could truly convey his gratitude like he wanted to, he leaned forwards and softly pressed their lips together.

Jim immediately melted into the kiss, staying completely still, immobile, losing himself in the moment, wishing time would stop and leave them like that for all eternity.

Ultimately, the older pulled away, but it was the first time they kissed, or at least, the first time it was actually reciprocated.

\----------

Time passed in the way time only passed when one was in love, quickly, seemingly skipping months at a time, scurrying so fast that years ended up feeling like mere days.

Jim easily got his mathematics degree and moved in with Mycroft, continuing to help him with his cases, planning murders and scheming for the greater good.

He never did join the government though, the other called him his little consultant and that was enough for him, enough to be able to stay at his side even if it meant disappearing in his shadow.

Life was good, airbrushed and improved by that pink tint he now saw everywhere.

Surprisingly enough, it took Mycroft almost a full year to notice anything wrong with the watch.

He had just glanced at it one day, and he had been quite stunned when he had noticed the time wasn't right anymore as it had been good the previous day.

Not wishing to criticize Jim's skills, he had decided to visit an expert in order to get the watch repaired...

  
The man had taken off the protective glass, looked inside and blinked, once, twice, bewilderment clear on his features.

  
"This -" he had said, pointing at the curiously shaped gears "-isn't like anything I ever saw before, I'm afraid I can't help you."

  
Mycroft had frowned, slightly unsettled by the lack of that familiar weight around his wrist.

  
"So you can't fix it?"

  
The man had closed it, putting everything back into its previous spot.

  
"I'm not even sure how this can physically work, but what I can guess, looking at all of this, is that the watch isn't broken... The lateness was added on purpose."

  
That day, when he had come back home, he had waited for Jim to arrive and asked him why he had done that.

  
"Oh, you finally noticed! I was wondering how long it would take for the first skip to happen!" the younger had chirped, leaning to examine the watch.

  
"The skip...?"

  
"That's how I call the random periods of time it can loose at any moment."

  
Afterwards, Jim had stepped closer to him, taken his wrist, and with a few, controlled gestures, too quick and smooth for Mycroft to really see, he had erased the delay.

  
"See, now you need me for something."

  
It had been said nonchalantly, off handedly, but the way the other looked away indicated something he could easily recognise, an hint of fear, a glimmer of worry.

  
"Of course I need you James, I will always do, I came to find you after all, didn't I?"

  
The other had grinned, content and carefree, that flame in his eyes purring warmly.

Months passed after that incident, flickered by and turned into years.

Jim was always there to gently adjust his watch, always here to kiss him when he came back from his office, always here to propose grand schemes and audacious plans.

Even as he was eaten away by worry for his brother, saving him from a drug den only to find him in another one, the younger was at his side, calming, comforting, creating little puzzles to distract Sherlock, interesting cases to take his mind away from the boredom.

\----------

Jim Moriarty was happy with Mycroft Holmes, it was a fact that he knew and wasn't about to deny, something that embodied truth so much that there was nothing else to add after this.

They fit each other, they were different, fire and ice, ice and fire, but it was that difference that suited both of them.  
Mycroft needed that fire as much as he acted like he didn't, that little spark of life, that glimmer of light, and Jim would go insane without the ice to soothe him, without the familiar cold that stopped the inferno from burning him inside out.

Still, even after years had passed, even when he hadn't met the 'great Sherlock Holmes' yet, the other still acted like he was supposed to be perfect just for him.  
He should have known of course, thay Mycroft's family would always be what mattered the most to him.

  
He still spent every Christmas with them after all, leaving Jim alone in their London house to drink their favorite whisky alone, curled in the older's bed.

Visiting Sherlock's flat in secret had been an impulse he hadn't been able to control.  
He just needed to understand in what way the other was better than him, what he needed to do in order to get Mycroft to see him for who he truly was.

The younger Holmes had been once again in rehab so 221b Baker Street had been completely empty save for its housekeeper and Jim hadn't had any trouble distracting her for a few hours.

The flat was chaotic to say the least, a mismatch of various objects very far from Mycroft orderly house, half covered in dust and seemingly random papers, yet he went on, looking for answers.

At the end of the day, he still didn't have any, but what he did found was the detective's various drug stash.

Jim threw them away, since hopefully it would keep the other clean a little bit longer and make his brother happier, before replacing every objects exactly like before, taking care to erase any signs of his visit.

  
Bitterness was probably the only word really describing what he felt after his little excursion, that sinking feeling in his chest, the way he wanted to scream, destroy the room in his anger, and yet longed to be comforted.

Sherlock Holmes wasn't important but his brother was, and said man was still planning to simply throw him aside.

James Moriarty wasn't the kind of person who suffered without a word though, and he certainly wasn't the small child he had been anymore.

Mycroft wanted to introduce him to his baby brother but never did the first step?

_Alright, then he would._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was mostly fluff but I hope you liked it! :)


	4. This too shall pass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy everyone! Hope you will like this chapter :)

It was Christmas Eve, and like always, the Holmes family was reunited to celebrate and give each other presents.

Mycroft would say he hated it and that he had been forced to come, but if he had to be honest, he did enjoy being in Sherlock's company without the other actively trying to make him leave...

The younger couldn't exactly openly insult him in front of their parents after all.

Of course, he did feel slightly bad for leaving Jim alone on such a day, but he wasn't ready to meet his family yet, was he?

That was what Mycroft always told himself at least, it sounded like an excuse even to him, but still, he was the only one knowing of the younger's existence.

The moment to open the presents arrived and the family found itself in the living-room, opening colourful packages.

Two in particular caught his eyes, mostly because they weren't wrapped like any of the others were...

The first one, his, wasn't signed, but the brand of the whisky bottle told him more than needed.

_ It couldn't be- _

' _For William Sherlock Scott Holmes'_ said the note on the second, letters curving in a very elegant and very familiar cursive.

_ Jim _ .

The younger examined the card with sharp eyes, trying to deduce who had sent it, before noticing the same kind of wrapping paper around his brother's gift.

"Oh, I take it you found yourself a goldfish brother dear? You should have brought them brother dear, I am sure Mummy would have loved to meet them!" he said with a slight smirk, opening the parcel as Mycroft visibly cringed.

Their mother immediately turned towards her oldest child, smiling brightly.

"Oh, you found yourself a girlfriend Mikey? Why didn't you bring her today?"

"A boyfriend, obviously." Sherlock remarked smoothly, taking out a blue cashmere scarf out of the package and examining it for a few seconds before tying it around his neck. "And a long-term relationship at that! Did he get annoyed by your secrecy? Or simply bored of you?"

Their parents looked absolutely affronted by the comment, but Mycroft remained stony, his jaw clenched tightly as his teeth painfully grinded against each other.

"I shall take my leave now, brother dear, if you don't mind." he said coldly, not even bothering to open the rest of his gifts.

He threw his cloak over his shoulders, took the whisky bottle and strode out, ignoring the snowflakes getting caught in his hair.

Sherlock had the sense not to stop him, even looking slightly regretful of his words, but it was too late for his brother to see.

\---------

"What is that?" Mycroft hissed, slamming the bottle on the table in front of Jim, not even greeting him.

"Merry Christmas to you too, and thank you for asking darling, I did spend a wooonderful night here, alone, all by myself because a certain someone still doesn't want me to meet his family!"

The older hadn't been ready for the burst of anger, for the way the fire roared inside of the dark eyes, but that only made his own anger colder, icier.

"You sent a gift to Sherlock." his voice was soft, deceptively calm, yet it echoed for a second inside the room, unanswered.

"I did."

_ So what? _

And the sheer arrogance held within the small Irishman would have been enough to make any man lose their mind to the rage.

Mycroft Holmes wasn't any man though and he only got frostier, his eyes sharpening impossibly.

_ Maybe it was at that instant that Jim thought of the nickname 'the Ice Man'. _

"I told you not to contact my family."

However, the ice only seemed to make the other's own fury burn brighter, blaze hotter.

"And you never said why! I know what you're doing Mikey, we both know I'm far from stupid, you're trying to mold me into your brother's perfect sidekick ever since we met and yet, you don't want me to meet him! What the fuck are you playing at?!"

The older stayed silent, still, gears churning inside his mind in an effort to find a satisfactory answer.

_ Why didn't he want Jim to meet Sherlock? _

_ He had been preparing him for years, yet he had always shied away at the last step... _

_ The younger was ready now, and if he had to be honest, he had always been, so why? _

"Is it so hard to admit you don't want to 'hand me over' to Sherly because you actually like me?" Jim asked, staring at him unblinkingly, looking just like he had when they had first met, a tiny child hiding in the shadows.

_ Oh. _

_ That was what upset him wasn't it? _

The ice thawed, disappearing from his demeanour, and Mycroft sighed before taking a step forwards, embracing the other.

"I am sorry James, I truly am, and you are right, completely right."

_ I love you. _

The unsaid words hung between them, and then the younger melted into his arms, pulling him even closer.

"I'm coming with you next year, this time you'll have to introduce me to everyone."

A smile, the promise unformulated but still accepted.

"Of course."

\---------

  
  


They were lying near the river crossing the garden, lazing under the weeping willow, Jim having fallen asleep half sprawled on his chest.

Months had passed after that Christmas and they were now in the middle of summer, trying to hide from the burning sun, getting ready for what they would tell Mycroft's family when the younger would finally be introduced.

Should he begin by saying he had known him for more than fifteen years now?

Or would they wonder why he had never talked about him? Why he had taken him under his wing in the first place?

No, that simply wouldn't do, everything had to be absolutely perfect in front of Sherlock.

Maybe this Christmas would still be too soon though... They still needed to come up with a reasonable back-story for their relationship, a cover to hide Jim's real job as his assistant, a reason for the fact that they had never met him before...

  
_ 'Liar.' _

Mycroft frowned when he heard his protege's voice hiss in his head, checking to make sure he was still sleeping.

_ 'Liar. _ ' his mind repeated, this time in his brother's voice, and he couldn't help but imagine what would have happened if he had introduced them earlier...

They would have instantly hit off, they were too similar not too, probably eloped at some point, but Jim would have still remembered him, right?

He would have tried to make Sherlock get along better with him, wouldn't he have?

He would have been that missing link between the two Holmes, and if his protege and his brother were happy, he wouldn't have minded stepping away from both their lives...

' _Liar.'_

This time it was his own voice bringing him back to reality, icy and harsh.

Of course he would have minded, even if he had tried not to get too attached to James Moriarty, there was only so much time you could spend with someone before starting to love them just a little... Or just a lot.

Now, just the thought of Sherlock kissing the other, of his Jim whispering back sweet words and sweeter promises was enough to make his blood boil.

He hadn't kept the younger away for his brother's sake but for his own... And what if when they ultimately met, Jim forgot his promise of love to the older Holmes and decided he prefered Sherlock?

A stir, two black eyes fluttering open and looking blurrilly around before falling on Mycroft's face.

The man to whom they belonged smiled brightly, letting out something that sounded suspiciously like a purr before snuggling against his chest even more.

"C'mon Mycroft, you're thinking too loudly, just take a nap and forget whatever is troubling you, will you? Everything will be fine."

A small grin found its way on his lips before he could stop it and the familiar voice made all of his pointless worries fly away in a second.

Of course, his James wouldn't just fall for Sherlock like that, he had made it extremely clear that he wasn't even interested in the other...

_ 'Everything will be fine.' _

He closed his eyes, closed his arms, anchored by that weight on his chest, just above his thumping heart.

It was a hot summer afternoon but Mycroft didn't mind the additional warmth.

_ 'Everything will be fine.' _

And somehow, he found himself believing the words.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly fluffy? Maybe


	5. Stare into the abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or how everything would have been better if Jim had just forgotten about that weird floorboard in Mycroft's study.

Happiness was bliss so it was only normal that Jim completely forgot about what he had seen in the study the day he had found the watch.

Really, it took him a surprisingly long time to remember the loose floorboards under Mycroft's desk, the way dust had settled just a little bit too much at the wrong places, how the light had caught the edge of the wood where it shouldn't have, and it took him even longer to get the perfect opportunity to finally search it.

It hadn't been one of his priorities so he had never purposely tried to distract the older in order to examine it, but the occasion had just been too good and the closed door of the study had made him remember the oddity.

Like usual, Mycroft hadn't locked him out, trusting his lover to give him his privacy unless he really had to get something inside, and so Jim entered, feeling like the walls were closing on him with every step he took.

There was no way it would be something big right?

The other trusted him but most importantly, he trusted Mycroft, trusted the man that had come to save him, the man that had been his only lifeline in a world of boredom.

He wouldn't have hidden anything important from him.

...

Right?

Jim let himself fall to his knees, lowering himself until he was crawling on the ground, trying to access the floorboards with one of his hands, the other holding a flashlight.

It took him a few minutes, but he ultimately managed to pull the plank away and take out a box.

It was light, strangely so, and for a second he thought he had bothered himself for nothing and that the whole thing was completely empty...

That was, of course, before he heard that slight, characteristic rustle made by moving paper.

Thanking the lack of lock even if it surprised him, he opened it gently, his fingers almost trembling from the apprehension.

_ Mycroft wouldn't have hidden anything from him, right? _

A newspaper clipping recounting the death of fake detective and a piece of paper.

Jim wouldn't have understood why it was hidden there if he hadn't seen the date near the headline, the name of the dead man...

And just what that paper said.

_ Find James Moriarty. _

...

_ What? _

For an instant, the whole world, that whole universe composed of Mycroft and him, him and Mycroft, that perfect machine working like clockwork, screeched to an halt.

_ Find James Moriarty. _

He stayed perfectly still, his mind whirring inside his skull, trying to make sense of what he had just discovered, thoughts hurling though his psyche, colliding and exploding in thousands of jagged fragments.

_ 'The reason of my visit? You of course.' _

_... _

Except that it wasn't, not really, was it?

He had never been Mycroft's reason to come, he wasn't even his reason to save him!

The young man screamed, throwing the box on the ground, smashing furnitures, punching the mirror, destroying the room like he would have destroyed Mycroft had he been there, not even acknowledging his own injuries in his fury.

Jim could easily imagine what had happened.

The other had found this one day, lying on his desk, or his future self had given it to him, it didn't matter, he didn't care for the details, what mattered was that Mycroft had discovered his brother would die and had seen that message next to the newspaper.

Ha.

_Time-travel_.

It sounded absolutely ludicrous, didn't it?

And yet-

_ Find James Moriarty. _

  
...

What else was there to do after that? 

What else was there to say now?

  
  


Jim fell boneless on the other's seat, immobile, stiff, like frozen mid-motion, ignoring the blood slowly dribbling down his fingers and onto the already stained floor.

  
  


_ Mycroft wouldn't have hidden anything this big, right? _

_ He had always told him he trusted him... _

_ But he had never trusted him with his family, had he? _

  
  


His eyes sharpened before relaxing, his whole face reflecting nothing of his inner turmoil, of the hatred that blazed inside his mind, setting everything alight.

_ When it came to his family, his promise of love and fealty had never meant anything.  _

  
  


\-----------

  
  


When Mycroft came back home that day, it was to a seemingly empty house, his footsteps echoing strangely, the sound reverberating on the now oppressing walls.

"James?"

No answer, no reply....

Was he even there?

  
  


He continued to walk around the house and ultimately found the door of his study half opened, half closed, Jim sitting silently in his chair, holding something that looked like a newspaper.

The light wasn't turned on though, and since the night had already settled on London like a soft blanket, there was no way he was actually able to read it, so what was he doing?

Mycroft stepped inside, finally seeing the room fully, the broken furnitures, the torn books, the smashed box.

_ Oh. _

Jim looked small in his chair, his lithe frame clad in one of his favored sharp suit, seeming fragile next to the hulking mass of dark leather, his disarranged hair casting strange shadows on his face and turning him into a child sitting at an adult's desk.

His eyes however...

There were like nothing Mycroft had seen before.

  
  


One of the younger's characteristics, one of his numerous common points with Sherlock more precisely, was the fire that always seemed to inhabit his delicate stature.

Even when he was bored or doing an everyday task, it would be here, dormant but present, quietly flaring, lighting his eyes with that strange glow his classmates had feared.

The fire was a part of Jim as much as his genius was, and yet, right now, Mycroft felt like he was looking deep into the abyss, the dark orbs appearing black in the half-light and reflecting his darkest secrets back to him.

Had he been fire too, like Sherlock, maybe he would have been able to light up that spark again, but he wasn't, he was frost and ice, snow and chill.

"It was never about me, was it?" Jim asked softly, still holding the newspaper with one hand, blood marking the already stained paper "It was about him, all this time."

_ About him, about Sherlock, like everything always was. _

They stayed silent for an instant, Jim because he still longed for a different answer, Mycroft because he wasn't sure himself what he would say.

He loved his brother, that was a fact, and yes, everything had been for him originally...

His future self had bent the space-time continuum to save his brother, but he had also left a note with the other's name.

"Why didn't you kill me?"

The words were so soft he wasn't even sure Jim had actually spoken.

_ 'Why didn't you kill me when this note could mean I will be Sherlock's doom?' _

"Why should I have?"

_ 'Will you?' _

  
  


The younger stayed silent, not giving any reaction, any indication of his thoughts, nothing Mycroft could have worked with.

If he had screamed and raged, if he attacked him like he had attacked the furniture, if he had snarled and bit, then the older would have known what to do, how to sooth the fire, how to cool the anger, but right now, his ice only made the abyss even more frigid.

There was a silence and then he looked up, two black orbs meeting cold eyes.

"Choose. You know this won't work, can't work, so choose."

_ 'Choose like you should have chosen years ago.' _

_ 'Choose, me or Sherlock, Sherlock or me.' _

This time there was an hint of something, an edge, a sentiment he couldn't quite grasp.

  
_'Choose? '_

At first Mycroft couldn't understand why the younger was asking him that, couldn't fathom the reasoning behind his question, but if he wanted to ask... 

_'Choose'_

_ 'Jim knew what he would say right? He was too smart to expect anything else, so why ask?' _

That earlier spark in the other's eyes made him too confident, made him feel like he had already won him over, like things would soon go back to the way they were, so he answered with his usual coldness, with that easy dismissal of his.

"And you know my answer will always be my brother."

S _erlockSherlockSherlock_

Jim looked up, taking him aback, and the hatred in his eyes almost made him take a step back.

It burnt for a second, searing, scorching, hotter than anything should be, and the next second, it was gone, completely extinguished in an instant.

He stood up, expressionless, blank, his eyes dark eyes reflecting light like only marbles did.

"Alright."

Jim left that day, and Mycroft didn't stop him.

He should have.

Oh, he should have.

Maybe it would have stopped everything else from happening, but what chance did they stand against kismet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...  
> Hmm...   
> I just hope people don't hate me too much haha?   
> Things are going to get better...   
> At some point...   
> Hopefully... ?


	6. The tiger and the poacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim builds a criminal empire and Sebastian Moran meets a "cute guy" at some secret meeting... What could go wrong?

Jim left, left the house, left Mycroft, left England, he abandoned all of that and the fire that accompanied them.

The first thing he did was buying a few bottles from the whisky brand they had both favored and then downing them all in one night, mourning their dead relationship. 

He knew how men were, their very nature, so of course, he was conscious that alcohol would do nothing to help him in the long term, but it was good to forget everything for a few fours, forget the betrayal, the departure and the emptiness.

Yes, maybe it was the last one he wanted to forget the most, that Mycroft-shaped hole in his very soul, that abyss nothing else could fill, that black hole eating away all the light that had been left in his heart.

His first stop was Ireland, his familiar village with his ordinary father.

He hadn't seen the man in years, not after he had left to study in London anyway, he hadn't tried to stay in contact, had never cared to answer the letters he got every Christmas, he had simply erased the man from his mind, deleted him from the narrative, and moved on.

When he came, though, with cold eyes and even colder words, his father simply looked at him, once, and closed the door.

James Moriarty Sr died a few weeks later, burned alive when a fire surprised him in the middle of the night.

The authorities found another body in the vaste house which was quickly identified as his son's, and the name James Moriarty disappeared from the face of the Earth.

At the same time, in the criminal world, a new power appeared and started crushing everyone on its path, destroying anyone that dared to stand up against his rule.

M was a consultant, and since he already had a lot of contacts and experience, he quickly became a force to be reckoned with.

Ultimately, it was the same job he always had done, people came to him with their problems, spoke of pesky ambassadors and priceless gems, and Jim planned, schemed, told them what they needed to do in order to succeed and then got paid.

He never got involved, never dirtied his hand, he was just a few typed words on a monitor, a line of text on a screen, elusive, evasive, so secretive that people doubted his very existence.

At first, he had thought resuming his activity would stop the emptiness, would finally restart the fire.

It didn't.

Jim lived everyday like he had lived the seconds following his discovery, in a state of permanent hollowness, waiting for something to arrive, anything to take him out of the abyss.

  
  


\----------

  
  


Sometimes, Sebastian Moran looked back on his life and wondered if it had been any different if he had said no to James Moriarty's offer.

He had been fresh out of the army after his dishonorable discharge, bored and in need of money, so entering the criminal world as a freelance sniper had seemed like the perfect option...

Being kidnapped on the job and thrown in a warehouse hadn't been part of his plan though.

His last job had been simple, an easy bodyguard position for some kind of fake charity gala where mafias met and made deals, he had just needed to wear a suit and act somewhat threatening to anyone approaching his boss.

At some point, he had been bored out of his mind and his employer had finally left, telling him he could have his fun if he wanted...

For Sebastian, having his fun meant finding some good-looking guy, having a drink with them and then hopefully leaving the ballroom to shag until the morning, so he had started walking discretely towards the bar, hoping he would have some luck before the end of the night.

Well, luck wasn't the term he would have used for the encounter that would follow...

Fate maybe? Kismet?

He knew there must have been something at work for him to meet the most dangerous man of England, possibly even of the whole world, in a meeting like this.

The sniper hadn't known who it was though, at least not when he had bumped into the guy, looked down to meet two big brown eyes and thought 'cute'.

The man looked startled at first, but then his face twisted in anger, gesturing to his soaked suit.

During the collision, Sebastian glasse had lost quite a lot of its content it seemed, and even though the sniper had been spared by the champagne, the good-looking stranger hadn't been so lucky.

"What the fuck?" he swore after a second, seemingly getting back the usage of his tongue.

The sniper grinned, that slight, crooked smile he has used all the time in the army.

It had worked quite well then, so hopefully it would now too.

"I'm really sorry for your suit, I'll make sure to pay for the cleaning, but can I at least buy you a drink to make amends?"

"The drinks are all free here. " was the deadpan answer, but the other ultimately smiled back. "But I guess I could be interested in a glass of whisky..."

After that, things had seemed to go well, they had drunk quite a bit, flirted even more, and ended up kissing outside of the ballroom.

Sebastian had thanked his luck for putting the stranger in his path, but said man had pulled away sharply, smirking, his eyes strangely reflecting the light from the fake candles.

"Now, be a nice tiger and go to sleep would you?"

Next thing he knew, there was some kind of dart firmly lodged in his neck and unconsciousness was waiting for him with open arms.

When he understood just what had happened, the sniper snarled, his hands gripping the smaller's neck with all the strength he could muster, hoping to crush his windpipe.

Fortunately for the man and for Sebastian's own health, the sedative finally acted a few seconds later and he had to let go, sliding down the wall until he was half sprawled on the floor.

A cough, two, and then choked words.

"See, it wasn't that difficult, was it?"

The world fell into the abyss held within the man's eyes and everything went black.

  
  


\---------

  
  


So, yeah, if there was something he could say he hated more than waking up hangover, it was certainly waking up after being forcefully drugged.

"Wakey wakey tiger, the sun is shining brightly today!" sing sang a somewhat familiar voice, the words laced with a melodic Irish accent.

_ 'What? ' _

Sebastian cracked one eye open and immediately closed it again, blinded by the harsh glare of the artificial light.

That certainly wasn't the sun, at least he knew that.

"Come on, I don't have all day."

Even though he really didn't want to obey his captor, he couldn't help but wonder who he was... His memory of the previous night was quite fuzzy, especially after his boss had left.

He had gotten a few drinks with that cute, harmless looking guy hadn't he? But then what?

Sebastian forced his eyes open, blinking furiously in order to adjust to the luminosity, trying to spot the man currently speaking, and he did, of course he did, it was hard to miss him after all, when he was standing in the middle of an abandoned warehouse clad in his pristine suit.

The nice guy from the party.

' _Uh?'_

Everything came back at once, the flirting, the sudden dizziness and the dark smirk sent his way... The trapped sniper snarled murderously, and even if the other didn't even flinch, he had the satisfaction of seeing the imprints left by his fingers covering the man's throat.

"Now now darling, is that really the way to treat your saviour?"

"Saviour? You drugged me, kidnapped me!"

The other smiled sweetly and Sebastian wondered how he had managed to miss the all-consuming emptiness in his eyes.

"And a bomb exploded in the building and the hotel killing all of the participants... You're welcome by the way." he said, looking at his nails like the conversation bored him.

"Why aren't I dead then?"

And who was this guy who had just admitted to killing some of the most influential mob bosses all at once?

"I liked you, Colonel Sebastian Moran... I had done a bit of research on you after you left the army, it's not every day that the best marksman gets dishonorably discharged after all, but I am afraid I got carried away by other projects and didn't have the time to contact you. "

"So you kidnapped me?"

The still nameless man shrugged non-commitally.

"You were the one to bump into me, I had forgotten about you..." The silence stretched for a second and then he added with a sharp smile "What would you say about working for me?"

' _Would you prefer living and working for me or dying right now?'_

The choice was quickly made, Sebastian Moran loved life more than anything, always had.

"Work for who?"

A chuckle, a tilted head

"Oh, I did forget to introduce myself didn't I? James Moriarty, consultant. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all liked it!


	7. Dissonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get better... For a while at least

After Jim left, all those years ago, Mycroft continued as usual.

He woke up, went to work, came back, worried about Sherlock, went to sleep and started the ritual all over again.

However, when before all of these activities had been group tasks, when it had always been Jim and him, him and Jim, thinking together, living together, now it was only him.

Still, life went on, his protege completely disappeared from the face of Earth, ignoring all of his attempts to contact him, but the world didn't stop spinning as a result.

At some point he stopped trying and it took years for the slightest hint of his lover's continued existence to reach him.

He had been working on the death of one of their agents who had gotten caught in a crossfire between two rival gangs in Brazil and it had just clicked.

It was a crime, of course it was, but so perfect, so beautifully planned that there were absolutely no proofs, and Mycroft just knew.

James was alive, but he wasn't playing on the side of the angels anymore.

  
  


\----------

Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal, and his bodyguard slash right-hand man Sebastian Moran had been traveling the world for years now, sleeping in five-star hotels and beautiful villas but never settling anywhere. 

For the sniper, it was the perfect life, an existence constantly bringing him new experiences and allowing him to discover new countries with landscapes he hadn't even fathomed...

And well, if he had to admit, there was the added bonus of Jim Moriarty at his side.

The man was... mesmerising.

Really, there wasn't any other word that could describe him in a better way, that could encompass his lithe frame and infinite mind as well.

For each of their destinations, the other became another man, smoothly shedding his skin and shifting into a new persona as easily as he breathed.

Afterwards, there was nothing, even for Sebastian who actually knew who he was, that betrayed him, he was just someone else, one day a fearsome criminal and the next a lovesick boyfriend clinging to his fiance during their honeymoon.

Maybe Jim had noticed his sniper seemed to prefer the second type of scenario but he hadn't said anything, the criminal mastermind only smiled slyly when he caught him glancing at him with hungry eyes. 

James Moriarty shifted all the time from one mask to another, never revealing his true nature to anyone, exaggerating his reactions, faking his emotions, acting like he was on a stage even when they were along, lazing in a hot tub. 

It was only normal that Sebastian wouldn’t know what his boss was actually like beneath the facade right? 

Apparently not, if the man's reaction was to be believed. 

"You want what now?" he had asked, laughing, and the sniper couldn't help but wonder whether or not he was actually amused. 

"I want you." he had answered, and it wasn't the kind of thing one told his boss but Jim had always said he liked his direct bluntness.

_ I _ _ want you like Icarus wanted the sun, like he longed for that fire even as his wings started melting _ . 

The smaller smiled, something strange and eerie, but the next second it slipped off his face and his features rested, finally completely relaxed. 

The man looked tired now, slightly weary, but there was something in his eyes, something that burnt, that craved and yearned, something that would never be appeased. 

Sebastian wasn't sure why he did what he did next, but he slowly bent, leaving the other all the time in the world to move away, and then placed his lips on Jim's. 

\----------

He had definitely chosen well when he had decided to spare Sebastian Moran.

He was an exceptional right-hand man, loyal to a fault, competent, frank and smart. 

Of course, he wasn't as smart as Mycroft or himself, no one ever was unfortunately, but at least he was intelligent enough to know and acknowledge that. 

What he asked him took him aback however.

Since the sniper had performed perfectly on the last few missions given to him, Jim had proposed him a one-of-a-kind favor, the sort where you could ask anything, anything actually real at least, and get it without any question asked.

Wanted a private island? Done.

Wanted to own the largest company in the world? Sure, that could be arranged. 

Wanted to control completely a smaller part of the web? Alright, whatever. 

"I want you." he had said, and Jim had stared blankly for a second, before understanding he was actually serious, a smile slicing his face in half 

_ 'What?' _

What a stupid man, he could have asked for anything, he could have been married to the heir of some kingdom the next day, or swimming in more cash than he and his descendants would ever need, and yet -

_ 'I want you.' _

He had chosen him. 

Sebastian wasn't Mycroft, they had practically nothing in common, but it felt nice to be chosen for once, so he complied, letting the mask fall away. 

He had to resist the urge to frown, to glare, to hide himself behind a fake anger he hadn't truly felt since that day in Mycroft's study.

Oh, he still got angry when someone tried to cut him off a deal or messed up with his carefully constructed plan, but it was more minor annoyances than anything and he certainly didn't even feel half of the murderous rage he displayed. 

So he forced himself to stay open, watching the sniper's eyes flicker over his face, losing themselves in his eyes before landing on his lips.

Slowly, Sebastian approached but Jim stayed completely still, observing the man.

He wasn't Mycroft, but Mycroft wasn't there was he? 

Mycroft hadn't chosen him, had he? 

He wasn't Mycroft, but he was _his_. 

His arm snaked over the other's neck and he kissed back aggressively, a man made of burning craving and scorching longing. 

\---------

Ultimately, they came back to England, back to London. 

It had always been bound to happen, Jim had avoided it like the plague in an effort to forget Mycroft or at least relieve the pain of his absence, but he had always known he would be drawn back to the city at some point. 

When he arrived, he had the unreasonable urge to go back to their house, to climb over the gate, walk near the weeping willow where they had laid so many time, slip through the window in the middle of the night and lay near the other like nothing had happened, like Mycroft hadn't made it very clear Jim didn't matter to him, like that bloody newspaper wasn't floating between them like some kind of impassable wall. 

He resisted though, he wasn't the kind to fall to his first impulse, he kissed his tiger and forced himself to let go. 

That longing stayed in the back of his mind like it had always had but at least it wasn't all consuming like it had been the instant their plane had landed and Jim had stepped on English soil for the first time in years. 

Things just... Settled after that. 

Well, settled as much as they could considering his job, but everything went smoothly, leading his empire from London was easy, his clients were like they had always been but they didn't have any kind of accent when they spoke English and that was pretty much the only difference...

At least it was until he noticed one of his case being half-solved by Scotland Yard. 

Not completely of course, they hadn't caught the real killer yet, but someone had deciphered the little riddle he had left on the crime scene. 

_ BORING. _

That was what it had said and what had been written in the investigation's file.

Of course, he had been intrigued, no one ever seemed to catch his little hints so this was certainly surprising, but annoyingly enough, the name wasn't mentioned anywhere in the earliest file, the man being only described as a civilian consultant. 

He dig up the older files on Inspector Lestrade, the one seemingly working with his target and looked everywhere for the mention of a name, not sleeping, not eating, completely engrossed in his task until. 

Sherlock Holmes. 

William Sherlock Scott _ Holmes  _

Of course. 

Laughter bubbled up in his throat and escaped his lips before he could stop it, tumbling out of his mouth like some dissonant waterfall. 

Even Sebastian looked startled, and yet, it wasn't the first time he saw him laugh like that... 

However, Jim had never laughed this way without a facade. 

\----------

He was worried about Jim.

It was a strange thing to say, even a strange thing to think, but it was true. 

Ever since they had settled in London, the consulting criminal had been different, off, sometimes passionately kissing him out of the blue and refusing to let him go for the next few hours, acting like he feared Sebastian might leave if he didn't. 

However, if this had been concerning, it had been nothing next to his quickly growing obsession with the mysterious man working with the police. 

The sniper had had to physically keep him in bed and force feed him in an effort to keep the genius alive, the man seemingly seeing right through him most days. 

This had been extremely worrying, and yet, Sebastian would have tried to ignore the behaviour as some kind of weird quirk he couldn't understand if it hadn't been for his reaction to finding out the name.

_ Sherlock Holmes.  _

Jim laughed hysterically, maniacally, for the next minutes, unable to stop himself, gasping like he had trouble breathing, like the name was stuck in his throat and he was now choking on it, unseeing, unreachable, unresponsive.

Afterwards, he simply laid there, boneless, before standing up suddenly grinning widely. 

"Are you ready to play a game darling?"

His lips smiled but the result was grotesque, almost horrifying, the forced joy in the lower part of his face clashing the emptiness in his eyes. 

Jim had been getting better, the fire inside him slowly getting brighter with each day, but the discovery of that name was enough to completely snuff out the light. 

  
  



	8. Puppets and guinea pigs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim plays, Mycroft is worried, but the disappointment sweep it all away.

The "game" with Sherlock Holmes... 

In a way, it was extremely similar to the one he had played with Mycroft when he had been a child, except that this time, there were only cases to solve and nothing to scheme.

Jim made the other dance, observed him like scientists observed guinea pigs and tried to understand what had made his brother choose him.

Of course, there was the fraternal bound, but it couldn't be only that, could it? 

They had never gotten along, never managed to speak civically for more than a few minutes at a time and yet, he hadn't even hesitated before selecting Sherlock. 

What did he have that _Jim_ lacked? 

He didn't love Mycroft like Jim did, wasn't patient with him like the younger had always been, he had never tried to get closer with his brother while the criminal had tried so hard and yet ultimately failed. 

The older Holmes had literally crossed time and space for Sherlock, how was he even supposed to compete with that? 

He knew he couldn't so he didn't, but that didn't mean he stopped playing, throwing some of his pointless cases at the other. 

Jefferson Hope though... He had been a gamble, or more exactly, a test.

Before, all of his little puzzles had never directly implicated the detective, he came once the crime had already been committed, solved it and then that was it.

The cabbie however, was still killing, was still dangerous, a serial killer lurking through the streets. 

Mycroft would react, right? He wouldn't let his baby brother be endangered in any way, would he? 

He would swoop in, find the killer and save Sherlock in the blink of an eye, when everything seemed lost... 

Jim still had Sebastian keep an eye on the conversation between Jefferson and the detective, but he wasn't expecting the new roommate to butt in. 

_ John Watson uh?  _

"Tiger, would you be a dear and make a few researches for me?" 

He had a game to plan afterall.

\---------

Mycroft Holmes was worried. 

Usually, he wasn't the type of man to be overly concerned about other people, but his brother had always been a special case... 

Just like the man " _playing with him_ " had been. 

He had known James had gotten back in London, or at least he had speculated that it was the case, and he has been wondering whether or not contacting him would be a good idea when the puzzles had started pouring on his brother. 

Oh, _Sherlock_ certainly didn't complain, but the older was always afraid things would escalate at some point, and unfortunately, he had been right. 

Without the Dr Watson, Mycroft had no idea whether or not his brother would actually still be alive right now, and yet, he still didn't understand what Jim was trying to accomplish...

Was he only trying to get closer to the man he had been practically raised to match? 

But why then hadn't he already met with Sherlock? 

The older glanced at his phone, his finger hovering above the call button before ultimately turning off the device. 

\---------

Jim gave Sherlock puzzles, just like he had for the last year, but this time, he made himself known. 

Countdown, hostages... And then John Watson. 

It was good to raise the stakes once in a while wasn't it? 

He wasn't even the one to propose that meeting in the pool, but he wasn't the type to refuse, after all, the one in St Bart had been extremely unsatisfying. 

He had come, acting as Molly's boyfriend while very obviously flirting with Sherlock, wearing the "nice and gay guy from IT" persona he had perfected during his trips with Sebastian, and the other saw nothing through the smoke. 

He glanced at his artificial expressions, at his made-up words and faked emotions, taking them at face values, so confident in his mind that he didn't notice the way Jim's eyes burnt beneath the mask. 

_Disappointing_. 

There wasn't anything else to say. 

Mycroft would have been able to tell it was just a facade right away, the younger was sure of that fact, but Sherlock hadn't. 

It almost felt like a betrayal when he realised the man Mycroft had dubbed his equal, his perfect match, could be fooled this easily. 

Jim had had half a mind to just put a halt to his games now and storm into the British government's office to rant, but the text held him back.

_In the pool huh?_

Snipers had been instructed, bombs had been brought and a specific army doctor had been kidnapped. 

Everything was ready. 

Sherlock showed up with his little get to know you present, waving the memory stick like it was of importance, acting as if he actually had something useful in his grasp.

The poor, poor man really didn't understand how things worked in the big bad world his brother and Jim ruled, did he? 

Everyone had missiles plan, everyone could blow up the other at any given moment, the important thing weren't the bombs in themselves but the balance, the shift in power occuring every second, the amount of puppets you had under your grasp and their value. 

It had never, ever been about missile plans. 

He made the doctor come out and speak, just to see the betrayal etched in Sherlock's features, the slight widening of his eyes, the way his breath got caught in his chest, how he paled, the blue hues of the water casting strange shadows on his ashen face. 

Jim wondered for a second if it was how he had looked when he had discovered that newspaper clipping and the words accompanying them, if his lips had parted the same way before anger took over. 

In the detective's though, there was no rage. 

John had opened his coat and the world had fallen into place again, so the criminal had stepped out with a smile, just to see what would happen now. 

Finally, after years of waiting, after years of Mycroft telling him he wasn't ready, he was finally meeting him...

The older had been right.

Jim wasn't ready, for the disappointment, that was.

Sherlock wasn't ordinary, of course he wasn't, he was probably as far from ordinary as one could be without being batshit crazy, but he wasn't Mycroft. 

He was clever, but not as much, ruthless, but not like the other, there were a thousand of glaring differences between the two brothers, seemingly invisible on their own but ending up creating two very different men. 

"Ciao Sherlock Holmes." he said as he walked away, needing the time to breathe, the time to put his scrambled thoughts into order again.

It had just been so anticlimactic! 

He had waited, waited and waited and waited for years in order to meet him, been told he wasn't enough, wasn't ready, wasn't suited, had thrown away his hobbies and his passions, everything in order to please Mycroft, everything to be what he wanted for Sherlock Holmes. 

And yet, Sherlock Holmes was _disappointing_.

All of his life, all of the sacrifices, all of the pain and the betrayals, it had all led to this one, huge disappointment. 

He forced himself to go back, maybe because he needed the confirmation, maybe because he didn't really believe what he had seen, but he entered the room again, almost wishing he would meet a different man. 

It was fortunate Jim had scheduled Adler's call during the meeting or he would have been tempted to let Sherlock shoot the bomb and blow them all up. 

\---------

When the criminal came out, he was immediately scooped into a generic black car by Sebastian, the sniper looking him up and down worriedly.

Jim was pale, cadaverous, looking like he was ready to throw up. 

"Are you alright?" 

"Of course."

Pointless question, pointless answer. 

"You look sick."

The man didn't reply, didn't even act like he had heard him, looking out of the window, glancing at the blurry streets. 

"Why?"

This time he did turn to face him, looking horrifically blank and empty, his dark eyes reflecting the sniper. 

"Did you ever think all of your life had been in vain?"

Sebastian frowned slightly, wondering what he was talking about, but the expression quickly shifted into a smile. 

"I have you, so no."

' _Did you?'_

Jim kissed him, hollow puppet with cut strings, and ate the questions away. 

  
  



	9. Cotton candy dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft sends a text, Jim reacts

Mycroft looked at his phone, scowling at the eight unanswered messages he had left his younger brother asking him why in hell he had ever thought meeting James Moriarty without consulting him would be a good idea. 

If he was honest to himself, he wasn't even that upset about the danger Sherlock had found himself in, he had always craved the adrenaline after all, and there was no way he would ever stop that pursuit, but he needed to know what had happened, what Jim had done, said, how he had acted, how he had looked. 

Mycroft Holmes needed to know how James Moriarty was. 

_Pathetic, wasn't it?_

He couldn't bring himself to send the other a text message but harassing his brother for answers he didn't have was somehow okay. 

Sherlock ignored him, like he always did, and he was left alone with his phone in his hand and his regrets in his mind. 

What would he even tell Jim if they met? What was there even left to say when things had gone this far?

Say that he hadn't chosen Sherlock as much as he hadn't been able to choose at all? 

That he hadn't meant what he had said in his study? 

_Had he? Had he?_

That he wanted things to go back to the way they were? 

Ha _._

_How could they?_

Mycroft had broken through the time space continuum in order to save his brother, hadn't he? No matter how he looked at it, there were no ways it had anything to do with Jim, not truly. 

_Liar._

_'Find James Moriarty._ ' he had written on that piece of paper at some point before sending it to the past with the bloody newspaper clipping, and Mycroft hated himself for not making the choice he was forced to make now. 

If only his future self had written ' _Kill James Moriarty'_ instead... Wouldn't have things been a lot easier? 

He would have staged an accident for Moriarty Sr and unknowingly caught the son in the crossfire, killing two birds with one stone and saving his brother... 

Then what? 

Sherlock would have been safe-

_and bored, oh so bored-_

and Mycroft would have been able to continue life normally-

s _urrounded forever by goldfishes and algaes, choking on the water, slowly drowning, drifting towards the abyss._

_..._

Things would have been easier, but would they have been better? 

\----------

Beaten.

That was what they were, utterly and completely _beaten_. 

The Woman had played Sherlock, charmed him, and now, he would have no other options but to accept her ludicrous demands. 

"You've been very... Thorough." Mycroft commented, forced to recognise Adler's talent. "I wish our lots were half as good as you."

She smiled, playful and slightly mischievous before saying:

"I can't take all of the credit though... Had a bit of help "

A glance at Sherlock, quick, almost instantaneous, but it was enough for her to miss the slight widening of his eyes... His brother did notice it however, and he seemed quite curious about the reaction. 

"Jim Moriarty sends his love."

She was looking at the younger Holmes when she transmitted the message, but Mycroft had no doubt who it was destined to. 

"Yes, he's been in touch-"

 _L_ _iar._

"Seems desperate for my attention-"

_If only._

"Which I'm sure can be arranged."

Once again, Sherlock sent a curious look in his direction, probably wondering how he knew the criminal, before becoming thoughtful. 

]

 _'Do you know what he calls you?'_ She had asked a few seconds later, licking her lips before continuing _'The Ice Man and the Virgin.'_

Ultimately, she lost. 

Got carried away in the game, in her infatuation with Sherlock, and lost everything she had ever worked for. 

'I _'ve always that love is a dangerous disadvantage.'_ The detective had said as he typed the letters unlocking her phone, unlocking her heart _'Thank you for the final proof.'_

_'Thank you indeed Miss Adler, thank you.'_

Mycroft would need to keep that evidence in his mind for what he would need to do later. 

\---------

It was Christmas Eve, Jim was curled against Sebastian, lazily watching the fire reflect in his eyes. 

Ever since he had met the sniper, that was how all of his Christmases had been. 

He wasn't alone like he had always been with Mycroft, downing expensive bottles of whisky in an effort to forget the other had refused to bring him to his family once again, forget that he was alone in that London house, forget the mind-numbing boredom telling him to break into big Ben and jump from the highest point of the tower. 

He wasn't alone, and if Sebastian was to be believed, he wouldn't be ever again. 

At least that what he had said years ago in Italy, but he had yet to go back on his words.

He always seemed slightly concerned though, glancing at him when he thought Jim wouldn't see him, frowning when he noticed him staring blankly at yet another newspaper featuring Sherlock Holmes. 

He didn't understand what was wrong with him but he did know that there was something. 

At some point, the sniper had stood up, checking their phones, and the criminal had been lounging in the couch with his head upside down, trying to imagine how the younger Holmes would look like if he sliced him open and spread his ribcage, when Sebastian had broken the silence. 

"You got a new text boss."

_So what? It was Christmas Eve, who would send him a message on Christmas Eve...?'_

"Hmm... Who?"

The answer was quick, almost immediate. 

"Uhh... You only put a M as his contact name, I don't know, but it looks like he wants to talk.

_Mycroft_. 

Jim had kept his number for years, but after the first day of his departure and a few unanswered texts, he had never tried to contact him again.

_Mycroft_. 

"Oooh Mikey wants to talk now?" 

He stood up quickly, almost falling as he did so, but he did not seem to care and he directly went for the phone, violently taking it out of Sebastian's grasp. 

Now of all time, now on Christmas Eve, of course, wasn't it just the perfect moment? 

The screen lit up once more, casting bluish hues on his pale face and bizarre reflects in his eyes, and his gaze was immediately drawn towards the message.

_-We needs to talk. Sherringford tomorrow at 10-M_

It wasn't even a question, simply an order, like he thought Jim was still the child hanging upon his very words... 

The criminal gathered his cotton candy dreams and his toffee apple hopes before texting back. 

- _I'll be there-J_

\---------

Mycroft's phone chimed and he practically jumped on it, needing to check whether or not the other had actually answered. 

It had been a long shot to contact him after so many years and somehow expect an answer, but he couldn't have said no to Eurus. 

She had just saved the lives of numerous innocent citizens after all, he couldn't have refused her request even if it made him extremely uncomfortable to message James on Christmas Eve like that... 

Mycroft just couldn't imagine his reaction would be a pretty one, and it wasn't like they had sorted the whole _'find James Moriarty'_ business. 

He sighed and leaned backwards into his leather chair, hoping the furniture would swallow him, and that at least the whisky currently twirling in his glass would be enough to make him forget what he would need to do the next day. 

It wouldn't be, of course it wouldn't be, he always made sure to stay sober after all, even when he yearned for the sweet oblivion offered by the beverage, and downing bottles upon bottles wouldn't have made him forget what he was about to do. 

- _I'll be there-J_

Mycroft swallowed the alcohol and let the regrets flow down his throat. 

\---------

The scariest thing with James Moriarty these days was that his eyes were dead.

Sure, he could be smiling one second and batshit crazy the next, spitting threats and imprecations, could shed his skin with ease to wear another one, but for someone used to him, someone like Sebastian who always stayed at his side, that little detail was dauntingly glaring.

Jim smiled, screamed and sang, kissed, kicked and killed, but his eyes, his obsidian eyes stayed the same, lifeless, inanimate, like two glass globes glued on a doll's face.

Sebastian knew the other didn't exactly love him, the longing in his gaze was just too strong, but he had always thought that the criminal simply couldn't love someone...

And then one day, Jim received a message and he was proved wrong. 

"You got a new text boss."

  
  


The Irishman had been sprawled across the couch, his legs locked on the backrest as his head dangled down, and the news had only been worth a hum.

"Hmm? Who?"

  
  


"Uhh... You only put a M as his contact name, I don't know, but it looks like he wants to talk. "

In that instant, Jim's eyes had lit up like Sebastian had never seen before, but it wasn't with something cute like fireworks or fireflies, no, James Moriarty burnt with the intensity of an inferno, destructive, dangerous, but most importantly, insane.

"Oooh Mikey wants to talk now?" and there was something strange in his voice, so strange, a mix between blazing hatred and cool happiness, that the sniper couldn't help but take a step back, leaving the phone on the counter.

He didn't know who that Mikey was, but he felt sorry for them, sorry because of the attention they had garnered from the criminal, sorry because of the way they made James Moriarty's eyes shine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone actually reading this? Probably not but I'll still post it since it's finished I guess?


	10. How to break the universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A meeting happens, or two perhaps, things are discussed and others are planned, but do they really matter in the great scheme of things?

A Christmas present.

The Holmes sister's bloody Christmas present.

Once more, that was what he was, a gift, an object to be handed to another.

That was what he had always been, wasn't it?

A gift for Sherlock and now a gift for Eurus, Mycroft _really_ wanted to get rid of him, huh?

James Moriarty had landed on the island,  _ 'I want to break free _ ' blaring in his ears and in his mind, mentally preparing himself to see Mycroft again for the first time in years.

He couldn't even remember what he had told the Governor, just that he had probably been creepy and threatening, but that conversation had slowly brought him back to Earth, giving the whole trip a sense to normality.

At that moment, he hadn't known exactly why he was being 'invited' here, hadn't known about the secret Holmes sister and about her plan.

Finally, he had been led inside Mycroft's office.

"James..."

Said man had met the other's eyes unblinkingly, slightly surprised by the pain he had found in them.

"Mycroft." he had simply replied, neither coldly nor warmly, just... curious

Years had passed since their last conversation, and yet, he had been able to see the scene as if it had been happening again at that moment, Mycroft's study overlapping with the current room. 

They had stood for a second, two, silently gauging the other like two Greek statues face to face in a garden, and then, the spell had been broken. 

In a flash, Jim had been on the other's lap, kissing him with a desperation, an anguish that had festered for years. 

It was Christmas and James Moriarty was with Mycroft Holmes. 

It was perfect, wasn't it? 

The older had pulled away, his pupils blown wide, black almost hiding the green. 

"I asked you to come here for a reason." he had said, suddenly looking away. 

_ And that reason isn't you.  _

"Oh?" 

And Mycroft had explained everything, about his secret sister, the boy she had killed, the fire in the familial manor, her genius and her demand. 

"You only called me because of her?" Jim had asked coldly, the fire dying in his eyes as quickly as it had flared earlier. 

"Yes."

"Then lead me to her." 

If the older Holmes was ice then the criminal was the void between the stars, dark, empty and oh so glacial. 

"James-"

Fruitless attempt, useless endeavour, so little and so late. 

_ Too late.  _

"I think we both know we don't have anything to discuss anymore Mr Holmes, so please, do lead me to your _sister_." he simply said with a blank smile that meant nothing. 

Mycroft did the only thing there was left to do, nodded and walked out the room, followed by the criminal, mere paces away from each other, reunited for an instant, and now separated by an entire universe of lies and betrayals. 

\--------

"I'm your Christmas present." was the first thing Jim said once Mycroft left "so what's mine?"

The dark-haired woman looked him up and down, her blue eyes lingering for an additional second on his bruised lips. 

"My brother apparently."

The criminal laughed humorlessly before shaking his head. 

"Unfortunately, dear Mikey did not call me here to see him I'm afraid."

Eurus once again observed him for what seemed to be an eternity before frowning ever so slightly, seemingly surprised by what she had found. 

"You've known him for years."

A nod, smooth and controlled. 

"He's the one that came to you, that took you out of your boredom, that showed you others like you existed in this world... But why?"

_ W _

_ hy?  _

The question had asked himself so many times that question that had destroyed his life. 

"Kismet." was the only answer he gave, wistful, lost in his own memories. 

"Kismet? You believe it was bound to happen? You accept fate as the only answer?"

_ Something bound to happen?  _

"What else could it be?"

_ How could this all be bound to happen when time travel didn't even exist?  _

Eurus smiled, that enigmatic grin accompanied with a bizarre glint in her eyes. 

"Fate then... But even fate needs a little push sometimes."

\--------

James was alone with his crazy sister, conversing about who knew what, probably planning to overthrow the whole British government, and yet, Mycroft would never know. 

It was in their agreement after all, five _completely_ _unsupervised_ minutes with the most dangerous criminal mind in history... 

Should he really have accepted such a bargain? Would he still have traded the light in Jim's eyes for those innocent lives? 

Mycroft saw himself as a person able to put rationality before emotions, and yet, he couldn't help but hesitate in front of that choice when he recalled that desperation fuelled kiss. 

Maybe, just maybe he shouldn't have told him about Eurus when he had seen that thing bordering on despair, should have kept him at his side, spent their first Christmas together. 

But it was too late now, wasn't it? 

If James hadn't been completely lost to him before, he had to be now... 

And if he couldn't have his lover, he would at least make sure his brother was safe, whatever the cost, and if he had to make his former protege hate him even more?

_All_ _lives ended, all hearts were broken, caring had never been an advantage anyway._

It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 

_ -Is the cell ready? -MH _

_ -Yes sir- _

_ -Perfect-MH _

\--------

Jim walked out of the cell, his thoughts whirling in his mind, calculations and equations, overlapping before collapsing on each other, returning to the entropy. 

_ Time Travel. _

Something so ludicrous it had inspired thousands of authors through the years, something so unthinkable that it had ultimately been ruled out as impossible by the best scientists the world had ever seen. 

Lost in his thoughts as he was, he only noticed the absence of his bodyguards before it was too late. 

Some kind of dart hit him right in the carotid, the anesthetic immediately entering his bloodstream, and it only took a few seconds for the world to fade into blank nothingness. 

Jim fell from the sky, fell through stars and nebulas, saw planets collide and galaxies die, before ultimately being embraced by void. 

\--------

James Moriarty woke up tied to a chair in a cell even deeper than the one reserved to Eurus Holmes...

At least that was what it looked like. 

His body woke up, stringless puppet, empty doll, and then stayed absolutely still, blankly looking at the wall in front of him. 

They tried everything to bring him back, from shrill noises to electroshocks, from waterboarding to various drugs, but days passed, quickly turning into weeks, and nothing seemed to work. 

The man just... wasn't _there_. 

Sure, they had caught his physical envelope, his human vessel, but what really mattered, that brilliant mind filled with the informations they needed, was so deep into itself, so far away beneath layers and layers of mental walls, that it had simply become unreachable. 

Anything they did on that empty husk, whatever they tried on that lifeless corpse was simply bound to fail. 

Even Mycroft went to visit him, cutting the cameras before entering and trying to bring the criminal out at first and then simply making sure his health wasn't worsening too much, but even that earned no reaction whatsoever. 

As much as he hated to admit it, James Moriarty, his James, was simply dead to the world... 

Until one day, he wasn't. 

\---------

In a far away corner of his mind, a little part of him, so small and secluded that it hardly mattered, was conscious of what was happening in the outside world, of the pain, of the stimuli and of Mycroft's concerned face. 

The rest of him however, that large, all-encompassing part lying low, far from the physical plan, couldn't have cared less. 

Deep inside his mind, surrounded by equations and formulas, Jim planned how to break the universe. 

In a way, a very twisted one though, it wasn't very different from the rest:

Time was a variable like any other after all, an ever-changing one, yes, but still, there was a beginning, starting numbers and ending numbers. 

In here, hidden within his psyche, he couldn't write down whatever he was currently trying out, but he didn't need the paper support anyway. 

Maybe it was easier that way, with him being circled by his thoughts, where he was able to test one of his hypothesis in a matter of second, the laws of physics following the real ones as long as he wished them too. 

Quickly, his formulas got longer, his schematics got more detailed, until he just knew that was _it._

The resulting machine would be big, cumbersome and needing so much energy that it would probably cause a world-wide power shortage by going off once, but it wasn't like that mattered. 

This would be a one way trip after all, and a rather short one if his calculations were right... 

As soon as one stepped into the past, the universe would try to fix that tear in the very fabric of reality, that hole in the space-time continuum, and simply erase the anomaly, deleting the time traveler's existence to preserve their own past selves. 

There would be no going back after that. 

But anyway, he had finished what he needed to do, had a way to make sure ' _kismet_ ' got its little push... He just needed to get out of here now. 

Jim let his eyes focus for the first time in five weeks, glancing around his cell before stretching lightly. 

The simple movements immediately caused an enormous commotion once they were noticed, the news spreading like fire in a dry forest, swiftly and uncontrollably, until even Mycroft knew. 

All in all, not much changed for the next two weeks, they still tried to get informations out of him thinking that now that he was actually 'here', he would be forced to spill _something_ at some point, but now, Jim actually answered with snide comments about their lack of technique, cockily pointing out how fine he felt after their little 'sessions'.

And yet... Mycroft still refused to show up. 

Something in the back of his mind vaguely remembered concerned green eyes and a warm hand brushing wet strands of hair away from his forehead, but he must have simply imagined them as right now the other was simply nowhere to be seen. 

He changed his strategy then, became more aggressive, more manic with his torturers, revealing their darkest secrets with a smile until they were forced to leave completely, somehow managing to carve Mycroft's name all over his cell. 

They had no idea how he did it and they had resorted to tying him to the metal chair most of the time when they left, but still, Jim could feel the unrest, the fear... 

And he knew, knew that the other wouldn't be able to stay hidden in his own office for very long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...  
> Hmm...  
> Hope y'all don't hate me too much for Mycroft's fuck up?


	11. Who's the monster?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting, a departure, a plan.

Their meeting finally came towards the end of his seventh week of captivity. 

Jim was sitting in the uncomfortable metal chair, drenched, beaten, looking like death warmed over, when the other man entered, glancing at his name carved on the walls before sitting down. 

"What do you want?" Mycroft asked, getting increasingly infuriated by his lack of understanding. 

_How_ _could he even ask something like that?_

"You know what I want." was the cheeky answer.

"I assure you Mr Moriarty-" and the name wasn't even hissed like it should be, or purred like it had been, it was simply said coldly, clinically, like one would talk about a complete stranger "-that I do not."

Jim laughed, his broken ribs and sore body screaming in protestation, yet he continued, filling the cell with his manic giggles. 

_ You you you you you. _

_ 'Sherlock _ .' he should have said.

That was what Mycroft waited for after all, wasn't it?

"You should have killed me." he said instead, the cold light reflecting in his empty eyes.

The other nodded, smoothly agreeing.

"I should have."

There was no trace of his first rebuttal all those years ago in his dark study, this time, he seemed almost convinced himself that it would have been better. 

_ Almost _ . 

Mycroft glanced at his watch and frowned when he noticed it was indicating the time at which he had entered the room.

It was still working, the gears were still spinning, churning, but he hadn't noticed it wasn't giving the right time anymore.

Jim smiled, something soft that didn't fit on his emaciated face anymore and held out his hand, palm facing upwards.

"Allow me." he asked tiredly when he saw the other looking at him in surprise.

  
  


With careful, practiced movements, he adjusted the clock hands until it was right once more.

"You were surprised to see it was late." the criminal stated observing the other's reaction.

A nod, a sigh.

"I learnt to fix it myself."

_ 'Now you need me for something _ . ' a young James Moriarty had said with a smile. 

"I see."

Jim didn't ask about Sherlock, he already knew more than enough about the other, and the room fell into silence.

There was nothing to add.

  
  


\----------

The meeting between them was more of a formality than anything, an admission of his own defeat. 

Neither offered anything in exchange for information, neither tried to break the silence once it had settled in the room, neither acknowledging the way their eyes strayed a little bit too long on the other's lips. 

Jim was limping ever so slightly when he was allowed to leave, the movement almost invisible and yet painfully clear for Mycroft, but he kept his concern for himself and the criminal didn't comment on the pain either. 

Maybe he couldn't feel it, maybe he was the unfeeling monster everyone painted him as, maybe the way he tried to put less weight on his most injured leg was just for show. 

Wouldn't it be just great if it was? 

"Catch you later." James Moriarty said before climbing into his helicopter, being immediately embraced and fussed over by a blond man. 

Mycroft felt something swell inside his chest, dark and ugly, a little thing of hatred and jealousy, sharp and rapidly growing. 

_ What if HE was the monster?  _

\----------

Jim stumbled into the helicopter more than he actually entered it and he was immediately scooped and examined by a very distressed Sebastian, the man trying to check his physical well-being while berating at the same time. 

"What the hell did you think Jim?!" he hissed, ignoring the way the criminal tried to bat his hands away when he forcefully opened his shirt. 

"Careful tiger, I might think you're actually trying to hurt me~"

The comment was meant as a joke but the sniper was having none of it. 

"Please, stay quiet, I don't care if you decide to erase me from the face of Earth later, right now, YOU are listening to me!"

Maybe it was because he was taken aback, maybe it was because he was curious but Jim didn't interject. 

"I thought you were DEAD Jim! You had told me not to activate any of your failsafes before two months, but the weeks kept passing and there was no sign of you, no nothing!" Sebastian forced himself to breathe in deeply, knowing yelling would have absolutely no effect on the criminal, before repeating quietly "I thought you were dead."

The consultant sighed, not knowing how to answer. 

After a second, a wry smile settled on his feature. 

"You know, I really wasn't planning on being imprisoned on Christmas darling."

He didn't say sorry, but it was the closest thing to an apology he would ever give. 

  
  


\----------

It took him a few weeks to get back to shape, but even if Sebastian forced him to stay home and to limit his movements, that didn't mean he was idle.

Recalling all of the formulas he had designed during his stay in the government's bowels, he took a pen, a notebook, and started writing everything down, etching paragraphs upon paragraphs of complex calculations and obscure equations. 

There was no need to write it down, not really, it wasn't like he would ever forget it unless he wanted to, but he couldn't stop that irrational things yelling in his mind that perhaps, _he_ wouldn't be the one going back.

And what if he died before finishing the machine? What if he was still alive but unable to communicate, cursed to watch time dribble by without being able to do anything? 

And the note had been in Mycroft's handwriting, of course, that didn't mean much since Jim was able to mimic it down to the added curve of the cursive when he was worried, but still, maybe it had a significance. 

What would he even do once he was in the past? Where would he go? When? 

Simply change the text on the note and bring the newspaper, telling Mycroft to choose him? 

Killing Sherlock as an infant so that his brother wouldn't be obsessed with his well being and happiness? 

Make sure his young self would have a great education far away from Carl Powers and ensured he met the older Holmes when he was less suggestible? 

Jim didn't have the answers to these questions but he knew that they would come, they had to, Mycroft and he were bound to meet at some point after all. 

So he wrote for hours, only moving away from the notebook when Sebastian forced him to eat or to sleep, until everything was held within the leather cover, until he was carving that familiar symbol by way of title. 

"What's this?" the sniper asked once he finally came back to the normal world, no longer engrossed by the paper pages and inky numbers. 

"This?" a smile, his hand resting possessively on the notebook "Kismet."

\-----------

Jim had a plan and Sebastian knew he would hate it without even knowing what would happen... When he actually learnt the details though, he realised it was more than hatred. 

_Fear_. 

Utter and complete terror that the criminal might just get stuffed into another cell underground and never make it up back in the sunlight. 

The man waved his worries away with a smirk and a raised eyebrow before explaining everything more in details:

He would steal from the bank of London, open the cells of the Pentonville, and most importantly, wear the damn Royal jewels in broad daylight, all at the same time, causing a massive panic for Scotland Yard. 

When he was subsequently arrested, he would threaten the member of the jury, walking out as easily as he had walked in the tower of London. 

That was when the sniper stopped understanding Jim's reasoning, if he had ever understood it at some point. 

For some reason, the criminal wanted to absolutely destroy Sherlock Holmes' reputation, going as far as playing the role of a manipulated and scared actor, piling fake evidences and damning proof against the detective. 

"Why?"

_ Whywhywhy _

Jim smiled sweetly. 

"I just wish to... Restore the balance so to say."

And what was that even supposed to mean? 

Sebastian didn't ask anything else after that, but the way the other's eyes shone, just like when he had received that text message from 'M', told him more than he needed to know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are still liking this haha >>


	12. Scrambling backwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion between two consultants.

Getting the crown jewels and sitting in that crown had been nice, it was just too bad the police had arrived this quickly... 

Really, there had been absolutely no rush, it wasn't like he had been going anywhere after all. 

Being in prison was annoying but it was better than being in Sherringford by a wide margin since no one was actively trying to torture him and he had been put far away from all of the other criminals, the authorities fearing that he might somehow cause a riot. 

Moriarty, the big bad villain, the evil mastermind, had finally been caught, and his nemesis, Sherlock Holmes, had been called to testify against him. 

It was funny how people trusted him now but would hate him as easily if everything went according to his plan. 

No one, from Sebastian to Sherlock, seemed to understand why he had let himself get caught, and yet, it was obvious wasn't it? 

He had actually told the truth to the sniper, it was all to restore the balance, the equilibrium between the two consultants, between the criminal and the detective. 

Why? 

Because someone had to choose, once and for all, and Jim wouldn't let this choice be influenced by social conventions. 

Mycroft had never truly chosen, had he? He kept evading the choice at the last second, but this time, he would finally be forced to, though his options wouldn't be his criminal lover and his detective brother, but an innocent storyteller and a fraud. 

The older Holmes had always been torn between love and _conformity_ , hadn't he? 

That would solve _everything_. 

Sherlock had only been the obvious choice because he was the only _acceptable_ one! He wasn't a criminal, he didn't need to hide his occupation, he didn't lie and kill for a living... But what if it was all a sham? Or at least, what if people actually believed that it was one? 

Then all of sudden, it wasn't proper to associate with him anymore, even if he was family. 

The trial came and went, along with its predictable ending, and once again, James Moriarty was free, free to continue his plan, free to roam London's streets, free to enter 221B Baker Street and silently climb up the stairs. 

The funny thing was that he wasn't even breaking in.

Sherlock might think he only had a key made for this moment, but Jim had had it for years, ever since he had visited the flat for the first time when it was empty, keeping it in some drawer, unused, until he actually needed it.

Since he already knew the building, climbing up the stairs without making a single step creak was easy and he was at the door in a matter of second. 

If the kettle currently boiling was any indication, the detective had actually been waiting for him but his arrival still made him start, the man unable to hide the flash of surprise in his eyes. 

"Most people knock-" he started, and with these first words, Jim could already see the way their conversation would go as if it was following a script, every retort laid out in his mind. 

It wasn't the first time it had happened either, he had known before the pool meeting just how their talk would go just as he had guessed Sherlock's words before they left his lips during the trial. 

They were just too alike, they had the same thoughts, the same reactions, they could converse mentally for hours and still end with the same conversation in the end. 

Jim smiled, cutting the man before he could finish his sentence:

"This flat was a lot more chaotic last time I visited... I guess your pet really does his job well, doesn't he?"

' _Last time you visited?'_ he could almost hear Sherlock think. 

"1998"

And it was easy to see how the other's mind churned around that number, how he tried to recall if anything had been out of ordinary... 

"I thought it was Mycroft." he ultimately said, remembering the disappearance of all of his drug stash, even the one his brother had never found before and never taken again after. 

The first response he got was a smile, eerie and bizarre, stretching over Jim's face. 

"Oh, it wasn't him, but it was because of him, it always was because of him."

Maybe it was because he was taken aback by the admission, or even simply because the words in themselves were strange, but Sherlock looked back at him, his surprise clear on his face. 

' _What do you mean?'_ was the questions his eyes yelled, but neither of the consultants were the type of men to answer this kind of question, so he stayed silent, trying to find the answer by himself.

"You met him before you even knew of me." he stated, confident in his deduction, and Jim shook his head, swallowing giggles. 

"Oh, did I? I'm afraid you missed something Sherlock, meeting your brother is tantamount to knowing everything about you... It's not a 'before', it's an 'and'."

"When? " the other hissed, annoyed by his behaviour, brittle like a twig ready to snap. 

The criminal had half a mind not to answer the rude inquiry... And so he did not. 

"Guess~"

Sherlock stood up abruptly, leaving the living room and coming back with the tea cups. 

"I don't like riddles."

"I know-" 

_Of course he knew, he knew everything there was to know about him after all._

"-but you have to learn to."

He took an apple and a knife, the blade dancing against the red skin of the fruit, digging, gliding, carving letters and imprecations. 

\---------

The detective didn't like his answer, it wasn't the type of answers he was used to after all, since usually, even when people were trying to be secretive, he was always able to guess their true intents...

Not with his brother though, or with James Moriarty, but wasn't that the same thing anyway? 

Now that he knew the two had met before, the similarities in their stances and their expressions were glaring. 

He had always seen the criminal as a more twisted version of himself, but now, it was easy to see how mistaken he had been...

' _When_?' he had asked, getting no answer but as events pieced together inside his mind, he could do what the criminal had asked and make an educated guess. 

When had Mycroft ever seemed close to someone?

_ 'I take it you found yourself a goldfish brother dear?'  _

Oh. 

_ Oh _ . 

Sherlock glanced at his cashmere scarf hanging near his coat and the criminal smiled when he saw at what he was looking. 

"Closer." he simply said. 

' _Before_ .' he meant, and the detective's mind scrambled backwards. 

_ Beforebeforebefore _

The intricate watch finding its way on Mycroft's wrist-

_ Before _

The concern in his brother life when Sherlock had mentioned Powers had most likely been killed by someone he knew-

_ Before  _

That letter their mother had received years ago from a genius boy wanting to talk more about her book and the way it had mysteriously disappeared one day-

_ 1986. _

Jim saw the realisation in his eyes and grinned. 

"You understand now, don't you? Why I owe you?"

The criminal handed him his carved apple before standing up. 

"Because I do owe you Sherlock, I owe you a fall..."

He left without any other words and the detective sinked further into John's chair, glancing at the etched letters. 

_ I O U.  _

He had no idea what a fall entailed but what did he know was that Mycroft owed him an explanation. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The discussion between Sherlock and his brother in the following chapter...


	13. We need to talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two brothers talk and a message is sent.

Richard Brook, the man whose name had been written on the newspaper clipping, the man entertaining children by presenting fairy tales, the man who would destroy Sherlock Holmes.

Jim remembered everything he had ever experienced unless he deleted it, so of course, he perfectly recalled the entirety of the newspaper clipping hidden in Mycroft's study, the words written near the headline explaining how 'Richard Brook' had been following the detectives order in order to create him an antagonist, 'Moriarty'. 

Why Mycroft had never thought that his protege would be the one opposing his brother, he couldn't understand.

_'Or maybe he had and that was why he had been molding him into Sherlock's perfect partner?'_

Well, the criminal didn't want the other dead anyway so the older Holmes really HAD saved his brother in the end... The date was already quickly approaching and soon they would pass it, changing the future once and for all. 

' _Maybe afterwards he would finally loosen up a bit and learn to be happy?'_

Jim shook his head, pushing the thoughts away as he slid into Richard's skin.

The man was everything he had never been, optimistic, carefree and naive, loving people and absolutely adoring children... The kind of man Mycroft would have hated, just another goldfish swimming in the bowl.

Placing such a mask in front of his features was like a second nature now, he smiled sweetly, softened his eyes and relaxed his face, looking happy, content...

No, that wouldn't do.

It was true Richard himself usually acted like this but right now, he was supposed to be concerned and scared since the big bad Sherlock Holmes was threatening him...

Jim disappeared once more under furrowed brows and shifty glances, his shoulders falling, his back curving ever so slightly, until the man in the mirror was unmistakably Richard Brook. 

_Perfect_. 

He took out his phone to check the time, smiling when he noticed he still had a few minutes in front of himself. 

It would be incredibly rude to make Miss Riley wait after all, wouldn't it? 

She had seemed so excited when he had called her a few days ago, telling tales of blackmail and fears, painting Sherlock as the villain she so wished him to be... 

Richard Brook. 

Reichenbach. 

The fall. 

_'I... Owe... You..."_

Whoever Mycroft chose, one of them was headed for a fall. 

\-----------

_'We need to talk.'_

Mycroft absolutely abhorred those words. 

' _We need to talk.'_ his mother had said on the Christmas after Jim had left, holding the door of the kitchen open for him.

When he had followed her, she had proceeded to smile and tell him how it was perfectly fine if he was gay and had a boyfriend, that both his parents would accept and love him like they always had, and that they would love to meet their son's chosen one. 

_Too late._

Mycroft had been caught up between the urge to laugh and to cry for a minute before ultimately pulling himself back together and saying with a very calm, very quiet voice, that he, in fact, was not with his 'boyfriend' anymore. 

Crushed by his words, the old woman had then proceeded to try and comfort him for the next, extremely uncomfortable, hour. 

Fortunately enough she had never broached the subject of his love life after that day, but his hatred for those four words, omen of painful talks and awkward conversations, hadn't decreased with the years. 

"We need to talk." Sherlock said as he entered his study, letting himself fall on a chair, and the rest of the world screeched to a stop. 

"About?" 

His unconcerned act only garnered him a wince and a date. 

"1986." 

Oh. 

_Jim._

"What about it?"

 _'What about him_?'

Sherlock didn't ask why he has met the young boy in the first place thankfully, he didn't make him invent a pointless lie in order to hide the incomprehensible truth, but the question he asked was maybe even worse. 

"What have you done Mycroft?" he said. 

' _What did you do to him to make him this unstable?_ ' they both knew he meant. 

"I wanted to mold him into someone you could love."

It wasn't what the younger had asked and everyone present in the room knew that it wasn't the truth either. 

A silence, stretching infinitely, encompassing the room, stifling them with its heaviness, and then-

"He asked me to choose, I chose you."

"But you didn't really, did you? That's the whole problem."

The almost had been spot on, almost instantaneous, and Mycroft hadn't been able to completely hide his wince. 

"I did not." he ultimately admitted, looking away. 

He had said _'Sherlock'_ but he hadn't truly chosen him, the words leaving his lips at that moment in the study had been utterly meaningless, fueled by fear and overconfidence more than by real resolve. 

He hadn't chosen and now Jim was presenting the same choice again.

"Why didn't you choose him?"

It was the honest curiosity in Sherlock's voice that made him look up and meet his blue eyes. 

No judgement, no hatred, just... Interest. 

"What?"

"He simply asked you that question to see if you held him as close to your heart as he does with you, no one ever said the one you rejected would die or suffer any consequences at all! It was one of these meaningless questions, like 'do you love me more than your favorite movie star' or 'would you pick me over your best friend', its only purpose was to check if your devotion was true! "

' _And I failed didn't I?'_

His brother's exclamation made sense, so much sense that he must have been blind not to see it before. 

Mycroft had made sure to always show Sherlock was his one, true priority, and so, when Jim had needed a proof of his love, he had asked him to choose, asked him to put him before his brother in his heart for once. 

"Pick him."

_What?_

"What?"

The younger sighed when Mycroft met his eyes, looking ready to huff and puff for a second before ultimately smiling. 

"Look, even if we have our differences, it's nice to know that you do care about me brother, but that doesn't mean you should give up on your happiness."

_'How can you say that when he is currently destroying your reputation, making everything you ever worked for crumble to the ground?'_

The other seemed to guess his thoughts and immediately answered the unsaid question. 

"We both know that James Moriarty could have killed me years ago and could do things a lot worse than destroying my reputation anyway... I'll just leave England for a while and travel the world with John, London was starting to become a bit stifling anyway."

' _You have my blessing'_ it amounted to saying. 

The older Holmes smiled, smiled like he had never smiled in his brother's company before, starting to take out his phone before remembering the criminal had shut down his old phone line after the events at Sherringford. 

His watch then. 

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked when he noticed him opening the latch.

"I can't send him a text, and it would be better to speak with him in person anyway, so since I think I can still make a package reach him, I'll send the watch he made me as a proof of my sincerity with my note."

A scoff and a half-stifled chuckle behind a nimble hand. 

"Am I dreaming or are you being all lovey dovey right now? You do know I have one of his phone numbers that still actually works?"

Mycroft smiled coldly, leaning backwards into his chair. 

"How would you know brother dear? Did you elope with Miss Adler or with your dear blogger while I wasn't looking? And surely you must know how a lone text would look to a symbolisms lover like Jim. " as he spoke, he took out his favorite fountain pen and a bit of paper. 

_We need to talk._

"Are you sure you shouldn't add anything? That sounds ominous "

Once again, the older smiled but this time there was nothing cold in his demeanour, just warmth and a little bit of apprehension. 

"He'll understand."

\-----------

' _We need to talk.'_

That was what Mycroft had said after Jim had gotten his mathematics degree and had started looking for flats, thinking that the older wouldn't want him to be around all the time now that he finally could have a job. 

"I know what you're going to say okay, and I'm already looking, I just don't want it to be too far from here? But I guess I could go in another city too if you prefer." the younger had said, looking away in disappointment. 

That had caused Mycroft to frown and ask somewhat too calmly :

"What are you talking about? Don't you want to stay here?"

' _Don't you want to stay with me?'_

And it should have been obvious already, all those years ago, that all those talks about pushing Jim towards Sherlock had only been that in the ends, talks, pointless nonsense of a man in denial. 

"No, no, I mean, staying here would be nice but I know I'm an hindrance to your work."

An hindrance? Since when had he ever been an hindrance? He even helped him on some cases. 

"Then stay, you'll never be an hindrance James, and even if you were lowering my work performance, I'm afraid I would still choose you."

Unlike with the choice involving Sherlock, the one between his work and the younger had always been an easy one...

So the words, carefully written on the crisp paper and slipped inside the watch's quadrant, would remind Jim of this moment and make him understand that Mycroft was finally ready to choose. 

He smiled and sent the package away, knowing the criminal would receive it in a few hours at most. 

\----------

' _We need to talk.'_

Unfortunately, that was also what Mycroft had said when Jim had been twelve and had just yelled at the older to stop talking about Sherlock all the time. 

The other had been quiet for an instant, his eyes icy, towering over the frail boy with his tall height, the soft light of the living room's lamp casting strange shadows on his face. 

"I'm sorry." the child had immediately blurted out, almost cowering, and it was at that instant that Mycroft had spoken, calmly, clinically, each words echoing in the silent room. 

"We need to talk."

Immediately, the blood had frozen inside his veins and Jim had let himself get dragged into the study without even commenting on the other's painful grip. 

"Aren't you happy here? Aren't you glad I picked you up from your little town in the middle of nowhere?"

"Of course I am!" had been the immediate answer, the brittle child seemingly ready to snap at a moment notice. 

"Then you do understand that it's normal if I ask for something in exchange right? I am not asking for much am I? I just want to make my brother happy."

' _That's my only goal so suck it up and accept your fate because I will always choose Sherlock over you.'_

That was what Jim had understood that day, and that was what he understood again when he got the message. 

Mycroft was sending back the watch, the symbol of their love, the symbol that the other needed him to keep functioning just like the criminal needed him, and even without that the words themselves would have been clear enough. 

Clean, precise, clinical and oh so incredibly cold, the snow white paper clashing with the black ink like they had clashed that day. 

_'I choose Sherlock.'_ it meant. 

_'I choose Sherlock like I always did and you had lost before the game even started.'_

Jim resisted the urge to smash the watch and to shove a knife into his chest, instead electing to tenderly put it around his own wrist, giggling maniacally when he noticed the bracelet was too big for his bony joint. 

Mycroft wanted to play a lost game? Alright, but this time, he would be the one losing. 

This time, Jim wouldn't be the only one to fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry


	14. Don't be late this time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim grins and death grins back, Mycroft runs as reality shatters around him. 
> 
> Or : things start to deviate and time is not as immutable as it seems.

His plan continued to run smoothly. 

Sherlock solved the case of the Ambassador's missing children, earning the suspicion of his 'colleagues' in the police, Kitty Riley was easily convinced by his story and Richard Brook's accusations were published. 

In a few days, the detective went from a selfless hero to a manipulative fraud in the eye of the public, and it had been easy, so ridiculously easy that even the expression the man had worn when he had seen him hadn't managed to take his mind away from Mycroft for more than a second. 

Knowing that Sherlock was currently in Riley's flat, he had entered with a grin, saying some inane thing about the lack of ground coffee before freezing like a deer caught in the headlights. 

Afterwards, screaming and acting like he was completely terrified had been simple, just another mask to wear, but Sherlock's reaction had been… strange. 

For some reason, he had almost seemed surprised to see him, and that in itself was normal, but it was the fact that his bewilderment hadn't disappeared that Jim couldn't understand. 

"What are you playing at?" he had hissed, painfully gripping the criminals arm, and really, was he trying destroy his reputation even more? 

Now even his dear blogger seemed torn, a mix of shock and astonishment swirling inside his eyes. 

' _What are you playing at?'_ and why was he even the one asking this question? 

Why was Sherlock acting like that? Did he think that their conversation about Mycroft had changed anything? 

_ It had, for a short moment, it had, and then he had received the watch and everything else had stopped meaning anything.  _

So what if Sherlock knew that his brother was once again choosing him? 

That changed absolutely nothing. 

"Why are you doing that?!" the younger Holmes had almost screamed, and the urge to laugh had been so strong Jim had thought he would give in right now and then, his facade be damned. 

He hadn't though, he had cowered, almost falling down in his hurry to get away from the detective, raising his hands in front of him as if he was used to protecting himself against this kind of outbursts. 

"It's over Sherlock! People need to know! I can't hide the truth anymore, WE can't hide the truth anymore, this needs to stop!"

_ 'Why are you doing that?!' _

"I'm sick of it all." he had added quietly, and that had been the only time he had actually told the truth. 

The other had stepped towards him, intent on getting an answer, and Jim had ran, his face painted with fear and terror, easily slipping out of the window and falling into Sebastian's waiting arms. 

"What are you playing at Jimmy?" the sniper had hissed, concern and worry etched on his features, Sherlock's words unknowingly repeated but said in such a different tone that the criminal couldn't stop himself from laughing. 

He had grabbed the front of the other's shirt and had kissed him fiercely, laughing against his lips, laughing as they had entered their car, laughing as Sebastian shook him, begging him to stop and explain. 

\-----------

"What's going on?" Sebastian asked once the criminal finally calmed down, trying to ignore the manic mirth still shining in his dead eyes. 

He had seemed mostly fine the days following his trial, following his meeting with Sherlock, calmer, more stable, content with the way his plan unfurled… 

So what had happened? 

It wasn't the only question he had of course, he still wondered who 'M' was, what their relationship was and how they had come to know each other, what had happened in Sherringford, and a myriad of others regarding everything Jim was and had experienced. 

Sebastian Moran wanted to know about the criminal's childhood, about the reason behind Carl Powers' murder, about his link to the two Holmes, but all of that would have to wait. 

"What's going on?" he asked instead, begging to understand. 

The genius almost seemed surprised, blinking for a few, long seconds before licking his lips. 

"I…"

Hesitation, uncertainty, emotions the man usually never displayed. 

Ultimately he smiled, the kind of smile that was the answer to everything and yet meant nothing. 

"Everything will be alright." he said without answering. 

_ Everything will be alright.  _

Then why couldn't Sebastian believe the other's words? 

\----------- 

The rest of the plan hadn't changed much in itself, Jim just added snipers on Sherlock's friends and that was it. 

At least, as far as his right-hand man knew. 

"You want me to shoot Watson if Holmes doesn't jump?" Sebastian had asked, frowning slightly. 

The criminal mastermind had never seemed to want either Sherlock or his pet doctor dead, so why now? 

He knew asking wouldn't yield any result though, so he kept the questions to himself.

"Exactly tiger." 

The words had been mumbled, half unrecognizable, and curiosity had made the sniper enter the bathroom.

Jim was leaning over the sink, grinning broadly and seemingly examining his teeth, getting close to the mirror before moving away.

"What are you doing?" 

A flame danced in the dark eyes, that strange little spark that made them look less dead and yet not quite alive. 

"Sherlock punched me earlier-"

_ 'Really? No one would have been able to tell by simply looking at his face but maybe it was just taking a bit for the bruise to show up.' _

"-and I thought he had broken a tooth but it's fine. " Jim said, accompanying the explanation with a grin. 

Sebastian hesitantly smiled back before stepping closer, embracing the criminal. 

"Do you want me to shoot some of his teeth out? He never seems to keep his mouth shut so I'm sure that'll be easy enough. "

The other chuckled when he heard the proposition, but unlike his earlier bout of manic laughter, it simply sounded amused, just like it had during the year's they had spent travelling the world at each other's sides. 

Carefree. 

His embrace was returned and Sebastian found himself thinking that maybe, juste maybe, everything would truly be alright. 

\-----------

Jim wore one of his favorite suit, carefully slicked back his hair and grinned at the moving corpse looking back at him from the mirror. 

Empty smile, empty eyes, his mind filled with forgotten promises and broken vows, James Moriarty smiled and death smiled back. 

Was it normal to see your bones through your skin? 

Mandible, maxilla, zygomatics, Sherlock had loved anatomy so the criminal had learned about it too, and now he could see them all forming his skull beneath the muscles and the epiderm, see the way they shifted when he moved, imagine how they would look without all of that useless flesh.

He forced his attention to shift away from the empty eye sockets and opened his mouth wide, verifying everything was still in order. 

It would be pretty pathetic if he missed after all, wouldn't it? 

But all was good so he closed his teeth once more, took out a fountain pen alongside of a piece of paper and started writing. 

_Come to St Bart's rooftop_. 

A perfect mimicry of Mycroft's handwriting, hurried, panicked, accompanied with that familiar symbol. 

_Kismet_. 

If the other had believed it once already, he wouldn't have any reason to distrust it now would he? 

Jim waited until their former house was empty and sneaked inside, knowing the cameras could only be down for a few minutes before someone ultimately noticed.

Making sure he hadn't moved anything, he slipped inside Mycroft's study, that room where everything had fallen apart, and left the message there, on top of his other documents. 

For an instant, the urge to check whether or not that damned newspaper clipping was still hidden under a floorboards was unbearable, but he somehow managed to resist it and walk away. 

It didn't matter anymore now, did it? 

None of it mattered. 

Jim closed the front door behind him, rebooted the cameras and jumped into the first cab passing through the street. 

The criminal just sat there, boneless in the back seat, watching as buildings and people blurred into one another until the whole world was this dull mix of grey walls and flesh. 

He stepped out of the car, breathed in, out, in again, and entered the hospital before starting to climb up the stairs. 

Mycroft would find the slip of paper soon and everything had to be ready for his arrival. 

It would be a shame to represent a play without a public after all. 

  
  


\----------

Mycroft Holmes came back home after a day of work at the Diogenes club, saw the message in his study and  _ ran- _

…

…

…

In another time, another reality, Mycroft Holmes left his office at the Diogenes club for a few minutes and when he came back, he immediately noticed something different. 

Laying on his desk, on top of the top-secret files, a single slip of paper with a familiar handwriting and an even more familiar symbol. 

_ Jim is waiting at St Bart's rooftop, don't be late this time.  _

Shoving the paper in his pocket, ignoring the small pool of blood at the feet of his desk, he grabbed his coat and stormed out of the building, waving off the weird looks his agents sent his way as he practically flew through the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo yeeaaaaaaaaah next chapter is the rooftop confrontation muhahahahaahahahaha 
> 
> Hope y'all liked this chapter :)


	15. Things that would have been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a meeting happens, two times, two realities, two outcomes and kismet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just -  
> Bear with me during the first part alright? Bear with me.

James Moriarty was already sitting on the edge of the rooftop when Sherlock arrived. 

A few minutes earlier, he had received a message asking him to come and so he had, his mind filled with more questions than answers. 

Why was the criminal doing all of that? Surely he had gotten his brother's message… 

But then why was he continuing the act? Why Richard Brook, why the children, why the newspapers? 

Maybe he still wanted to restore the balance so that Mycroft wouldn't be pressured by his coworkers for his choice, but even then, he was being quite extreme. 

"James." he said carefully as he closed the door behind him. 

Said man grinned, wide and unsettling, his eyes shining in a way they hadn't before. 

"Sherlock. Thank you for coming. "

The detective said nothing for an instant, examining the other before asking:

"Why did you call me here in the first place?"

The smile plastered on the criminal's face got somehow emptier if that was even possible until it was more a grimace than anything else. 

"I already told you before, I owe you a fall." he answered like that made any sense. 

Sherlock glanced at Jim and saw the familiar watch around his wrist, half hidden beneath the sleeve of his suit. 

"You got Mycroft's message."

_ Then why?  _

"Oh of course, I know of his choice. "

_ Why did his eyes become so empty?  _

The smaller man stood up and stepped towards him until their faces were millimeters away from on another. 

"I know everything of his choice." Jim hissed with a sweet smile before adding, sickeningly sycophantic "So why don't you be a darling and jump off that roof?"

_ What?  _

His shock must have been clear on his face, yet the other offered no explanation, didn't laugh and wave it off as a joke, he simply continued his to stare at him with his burning eyes. 

_ Burning?  _

"Your friends will die if you don't… and then maybe I'll blow up London, you know, for the kick of it~"

Singing more than he was speaking, saying threats in a sweet, sugary tone, poisonous honey leaving his lips and permeating the air, James Moriarty grinned and Sherlock understood, understood that flame in his eyes, understood the blush spreading on his cold cheeks, understood that sickly warmth seeping out of the man's skin and permeating the air. 

"Why?"

\-----------

_Whywhywhywhywhy_

"Why what?"

Wide, shocked eyes rapidly filling with incomprehension and an hint of concern, the detective stumbling on his words, seemingly not knowing how to formulate his next sentences. 

_Why was he doing that?_

_ Why was he threatening his friends?  _

_ Why was it getting progressively harder to breathe ? _

There was only one answer to all of these questions, there had always been only one answer. 

_Mycroft_. 

Instead of answering, he took a step away from Sherlock and turned his back to him, looking down on the streets below. 

"Do you know Sherlock, why your brother looked for me all those years ago? "

If the surprise on the detective's face was to be believed, he didn't, didn't know that Mycroft's one answer had always been his brother, didn't know that all of this had always been bound to happen. 

"One day, 25 years ago, he found on his desk a paper telling him to find me and a newspaper clipping recounting your death. "

_ And wasn't the look of disbelief on Sherlock's face absolutely adorable?  _

"It's all his fault you know? If he wasn't planning on choosing me, he should have killed me."

_ Wouldn't everything have been much easier that way?  _

"He never chose me so there's no point in giving him the choice anymore, is there?"

Jim swayed on his feet ever so slightly, trying to ignore his dizziness, unintentionally taking a step back when the detective jumped on the edge, standing right in front of him and stopping him from getting too far away by holding his shoulders. 

"He chose you! He chose YOU! That was what the watch was supposed to mean-"

_ What?  _

"-take the antidote!"

Oh. 

_ Oh.  _

He only had noticed that, alright. 

Of course, he would lie he had probably figured out that everyone could survive if Jim sent a particular code to his men… 

It was just a lie. 

_ It had to be.  _

He heard footsteps flying over the stairs, getting closer and closer to the rooftop and froze. 

Mycroft

_Right on time._

_ 'Sorry _ .' he wanted to say, because as much as he had hated him, the other had never done anything himself to garner the hatred. 

"Thank you." he said instead, seeing the fear in his blue eyes, the understanding. 

Jim smiled, swallowed his cyanide pride and pushed Sherlock off the roof. 

\-----------

Mycroft arrived just in time to see Sherlock fall. 

"SHERLOCK!" 

He dashed towards the edge, ignoring Jim, ignoring everything, fully focused on the falling form of his brother.

Too late.

_ Fraudulent detective kills himself.  _

He couldn't stop himself from looking down and he saw him on the pavement, twisted in all sorts of wrong way, boneless like a puppet without strings, bloods flowing out of his broken body.

_ God no- _

"What have you done? " he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else.

The criminal didn't seem fazed by his shock, he slowly stepped towards the other.

"You saw my note." he breathed out in wonderment, his eyes glinting madly, making him look almost feverish.

_ His note? _

"Kismet."

Jim grinned, flames dancing inside the dark abyss of his eyes.

"You should have killed me Mycroft."

Killing him would have been a mercy for everyone involved.

One, two, he stepped forwards, one foot in front of the other, their faces now so close that he could feel their breathes interwining.

"You didn't choose me, so I took away the choice."

His voice was softer now, almost gentle, and the kiss he felt on his lips was feather light, a mere brush of the wind.

_ Sherlock was dead. _

Jim's grin widened impossibly and he leaned forwards once more, but there was nothing gentle anymore.

_ Sherlock was dead. _

It was desperate, sizzling, blistering lips and burning skin, but once more he pulled away, looking dazzled, stumbling, staggering before half falling on Mycroft.

The sudden weight of the man leaning against him was enough to snap him out of it and he finally looked at him, truly looked at him, seeing all of the little things he had missed, that fever burning in his eyes, the bluish color of his lips, the way he trembled ever so slightly in his arms..

"Wow, didn't think it would hit this fast! " Jim laughed, or at least he tried to, the chuckles staying stuck in his throat, and he ended up gasping for air.

"James."

Said man smiled, that soft thing he hadn't seen since he had come back that day and had found him with the newspaper clipping.

"Mycroft." he answered before falling further into the embrace, forcing them both on their knees.

"What have you done?"

"I took away the choice." the criminal repeated, gasping, and Mycroft understood.

_ Poison. _

_ Of course. _

  
  


That first time, he hadn't meant that he would force the older to choose him by taking Sherlock out of the equation but that he would simply made the choice completely pointless by killing both of the options.

Jim laid in his arms, his head resting on his lap, his lips, turning bluer by the minute, clashing with his flushed cheeks. 

He looked like a child in that instant, frail and weak, like the child Mycroft had met, like the child that had liked sprawling on him and had pressed their lips together when he was still eleven, like the child he had pushed away so many times. 

"You can't die James, I just can't allow you to die." he said softly yet firmly, getting ready to carry the smaller man if he needed too.

"It's too late Mycroft."

' _You know it is. '_

And of course it was, anybody would have understood that it was after seeing the color of his lips, that feverish fire in his eyes, the way his breath got caught in his chest.

' _It's too late.'_

The criminal looked at him with those black, pleading eyes, and there was no need for words.

' _It was always bound to be.'_

The older settled on the floor once more and tried to make the dying man more comfortable, holding him close, cradling his limp form close to his chest.

"Did you really chose me?" he rasped out, knowing Mycroft would understand what he meant.

Jim had taken away the choice but he couldn't quite stop himself from wondering what would have been the result.

A pause, the silence only broken by pained gasps, and then the smooth answer.

"Yes of course, I would have always chosen you James."

A smile twisting blue lips, that dying spark in his eyes flaring, burning with bright joy, and then dying in the same second.

The younger laid, in his arms, boneless, limp, looking happier than he had in years.

  
\------------  
  


...

...

...

_ Mycroft wasn't supposed to be there yet. _

Oh, he was supposed to come, Jim hadn't broken into his house and forged a message from the future for nothing after all, but if his calculs had been right, he should have arrived after Sherlock, only seeing the slip of paper once he was back from the Diogenes club…

Well, apparently, he had decided to be wrong at the worst moment imaginable seeing as the criminal had just entered the rooftop when familiar footsteps echoed behind him.

"Jim." the older breathed out, and maybe it was the happiness laced with his name, maybe it was the bright smile on his face, but the criminal found his jaw unclenching on its own, his pointy teeth getting farther from his capsuled death.

"Mycroft. " 

The watch felt like a shackle around his wrist, dragging him down, impossible weight forcing his feet on the ground when he wished for nothing more than to fly away, yet Mycroft's face lit up when he saw it, no trace of his usual ice masking his features. 

"You got my message. "

Did he have to sound this happy while saying that he was throwing away their relationship?

And why was he open like that, why did he placate his very being in his features without his usual walls? 

"And you received mine. " Jim bit back sardonically, his tongue passing over his teeth, stilling when it reached a particular molar, hesitating-

Mycroft seemed taken aback, his eyes widening as he stepped forwards, reaching out, something akin to reverence overtaking his features.

"You invented time travel? "

…

Oh. 

Of course, he had signed with _Kismet_ hadn't he? 

"What, didn't think I could do it? Of course I did, but I just forged your handwriting and broke into your-"  _ our "- _ house DOOFUS! " he almost screamed the last word before smiling prettily "I haven't built the machine yet if you were worried about me erasing Sherlock from existence to get revenge or something. "

That wouldn't have been nearly as fun and dramatic as it would be now… 

"Revenge? "

And why did Mycroft focus on that part? 

"What, did you think I would just lay back and take it? I'm not a child anymore Mycroft, things have changed-"  _ have they? Have they?  _ "-you can't just throw me away without facing the consequences. "

"What are you talking about? " he asked, his smile slipping off his features "I'm not throwing you away! "

"Ah, you're not? Then what are you doing Ice Man? Putting me on the sideline to prioritise your brother again? Is that not the exact same thing?"

"I thought you had gotten my message, you have the watch! "

_ 'We need to talk. ' _

Ah. 

They really did, didn't they? 

"Yes, and I agree, we do need to talk. "

Jim took out his Beretta without flourishes, lazily pointing it at Mycroft's heart. 

"Now darling, what did you want to say? "

The other's reaction was almost imperceptible but it was still there and Jim saw it, the steel entering his eyes, the frost covering his mind and his heart-

Before being forcefully pushed away, thawed, the gaze as clear and open as before even with the gun pointing at his chest. 

"The same thing I've been meaning to say for years. "

Mycroft stepped closer and closer until the mussel of the gun was digging into his muscles, crumpling his pristine suit.. 

"I'm sorry that I failed you so many times."

Jim froze, the gun almost slipping out of his fingers before he steadied his grip. 

_Mycroft_ was apologising to him?

Mycroft was apologising to  _ him?  _

"What? " he somehow managed to choke out, his voice sounding deceptively steady as it echoed around them. 

One word, one sound and four measly little letters carrying the weight of his sanity. 

"The watch, the message, I wanted to talk to you because I'm choosing you like I should have chosen you years ago Jim, it wasn't fair of me to push you towards Sherlock while knowing my jealousy wouldn't allow you to leave me… I'm a selfish man, that me from another reality is a perfect exemple, defying time because I was unable to live in a world without my brother… without you. "

The criminal scoffed, snapping out of his shock. 

What, he thought telling him everything he had always wanted to hear would be enough? He thought Jim was still the small child clinging to him with stars in his eyes, treating his every words like gospel? He thought it was a good idea to make him hope with all the remains of his shattered heart for something that he would never possess? 

"Come on! We both know it was never about me, that other you-" and it was always him,  _ MycroftMycroftMycroft  _ "just wrote my name because I'm the one who killed Sherlock! " he snarled venomously, voicing the words that had always taunted him from the back of his mind for the first time. 

_ Richard Brook, Reichenbach, it was all obvious wasn't it?  _

James Moriarty was bound to be Sherlock's nemesis, bound to be the one that made him fall, it wasn't quite kismet-  _ kismet was too personal at this point, too close to his heart -  _ but it was fate nonetheless. 

"No Jim you don't understand… you said you left the note in our house right ? In my study I guess? "

_ Guess? What did he mean?  _

"The thing is, I found this in my office at the Diogenes club, nowhere near my study… I came back in time for you Jim, not for Sherlock. " 

_ What?  _

Mycroft took the crumpled paper slip out of his pocket, holding it out, and Jim froze once more. 

_ It wasn't the message he had left _ . 

It was the same handwriting, yes, but where his had been hurried, worried, the words laid out in front of his eyes were calm and deliberate, something that he couldn't quite comprehend lacing the letters. 

_ Ha.  _

"I came back because of you, if that hadn't been the case that message years ago would have said " _ kill James Moriarty _ "... I'm just sorry I only understood now. "

A second apology in the span of a few minutes? 

"Then why did you send the watch? I thought that meant-"

_ 'I thought that meant the whole world had ended right in front of me. ' _

Jim breathed, in, out, resuming. 

"I thought you were protecting Sherlock again… But what about him then? "

The detective knew now and with his reputation destroyed like that, didn't he want revenge? 

It wouldn't look good for his brother either, with Jim being a minor and all, but who would ever guess the strangeness of their relationship? 

"He's actually the one who knocked some sense into my head, he told me that he didn't mind and that he would just leave England for a while, travel the world with John. "

_ Sherlock had deliberately helped him?  _

_ Sherlock had accepted the fact that his brother's lover was his enemy and the most dangerous criminal mind in the world?  _

This time the gun slipped out of his fingers, clattering on the cold concrete floor as Jim stumbled on his feet, suddenly feeling dizzy. 

It wasn't the kind of dizzy he would have been had he bit the cyanide capsule, the one where life slipped away leaving only a dull haze of regret and agony behind, no, it was the dizzy you felt when your whole world was turned sideways, when the Earth suddenly changed axis and sent you drifting into space. 

"Jim? " Mycroft's voice was soft, worried, and a second later the criminal could feel a familiar grip around his shoulder, holding him close, grounding him-

Jim laughed, laughed until he couldn't breathe and he was leaning against the other in an effort to continue standing, laughed because of the error he had almost made, laughed until the sounds were so broken he could have as well been sobbing. 

"I almost killed him. " he managed to choke at some point before dissolving into another bout of manic giggles, shuddering against Mycroft's chest "I would have killed him in front of you, put a bullet in that pretty head of his or thrown him off the rooftop right as you arrived, and then I would have died on that same concrete floor. "

It would have all been very tragic wouldn't it? Very Shakespearean, very amusing, a deadly misunderstanding and a broken pair of lovers. 

The other froze, his eyes falling on the gun. 

"Oh no, not with that little toy, that would have hardly been dramatic enough right? I have a cyanide capsule, I would have bitten it right as Sherlock arrived."

But instead of the detective, Mycroft had been the one to arrive, the one to talk him out of it,the one to  _ hold him- _

Mycroft had come back in time to save  _ him _ . 

Sure, it would also save Sherlock, but he could have only saved his brother if he had arrived before Jim killed him and  _ he  _ would have still died from the poisoning...

Ah. 

James Moriarty had never been one for crying, even as a child, even as he was bullied and beaten, so he did not, he just smiled a little less sharply than usual and pressed his lips softly against Mycroft's. 

If his dark eyes seemed a bit moist, if they shone more than they usually did, no one mentioned it. 

"Thank you. " he breathed out after breaking the languid kiss, gripping the front of the other's coat as if he was still a child afraid of being left alone. 

Mycroft Holmes apologizing not just one but twice and James Moriarty genuinely thanking someone, the world was definitely broken. 

Still, Jim did not mind living in a shattered universe if it meant having Mycroft back. 

"Things changed. " he had an empire now, he had a life and a sniper-

A nod of agreement and the criminal continued "They won't be like they were before. "

Mycroft smiled and Jim felt like laughing again from the sheer absurdity of it all, the simple fact that he should have been dead by now and he had found himself finally breathing for the first time in years instead. 

"They shouldn't be, but we'll work it out won't we? "

They had all the time in the world in front of them after all. 

"We will. "

  
  


\-----------

  
  


Sherlock opened the door leading to the rooftop, expecting to see the criminal waiting for him… 

Well, he was there, but he wasn't alone and he was all but waiting. 

The detective smiled when he saw his brother locked in an embrace with the other, holding him as close as he humanly could, whispering sweet words into Jim's ears as the smaller nuzzled into the crook of Mycroft's neck. 

This wasn't a scene that he should be observing. 

Quietly, he turned on his heels silently closing the door behind him before sauntering down the stairs. 

Now… He should probably tell John about their future travels right? His friend would probably appreciate being aware of their departure beforehands. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters left hehe~  
> Hope y'all liked this!


	16. Points in time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft copes after Jim's and Sherlock's death... In another world, another present, lovers discuss and plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay between this chapter and the last, I hurt my finger a few days ago so it has been quite annoying to write the missing part and edit everything haha

_ No… _

He had done everything, absolutely everything he could have done, and yet, it had ended this way.

Sherlock had fallen, Jim had killed himself, they were both dead and Mycroft was now alone in a world of goldfish.

He had never thought he would be the last one standing, he was the oldest afterall, so he had always thought and hoped that he would be the first to die while Jim and Sherlock lived for years after his departure.

He had even shared his thoughts with the criminal one day, when they were still young and carefree, working together on the same cases...

The other had glared has him when he had mentioned living after his death and had only said that Mycroft wouldn't be alone for long. 

"Sherlock would need you." he had said, and for a second, he had seen hatred flicker in the dark eyes, but the next instant, it had been gone and Jim had been smiling brightly.

"Of course, I forgot about that."

  
  


\-----------

  
  


Sherlock was buried in the cemetery near the ancestral Holmes's home, among the tombstones he had scrutinised as a child.

There wasn't a lot of people involved, it was private, with their parents, John, Mrs Hudson and the inspector Lestrade.

Like every one of the gravestone, the dates had been changed to be completely illogical, and Mycroft had been the one asked to design the inscriptionsm

It was stupid but he had been enable to keep the day of his death, unable to face what had happened, the way he had arrived just a second too late endlessly replaying in front of his eyes, the ethereal form of his brother falling in his last instants for all eternity.

He had changed it, twisted it until the numbers impossibly said that Sherlock was dead before he was even born, seven years before more precisely...

No one seemed to notice, but Mycroft put his birthday as the day of his brother's death.

It was fitting after all, wasn't it?

Had he never existed, Jim would have been left alone, grown into someone else and ultimately met Sherlock at some point, and they would have immediately hit off, wouldn't they have? 

They were too similar not too without Mycroft standing in the middle.

Maybe they would have been alive right now then, they might have been both criminals, even serial killers for all he cared, but they would have been alive, happy and well.

The doctor Watson punched him when he saw him at the funeral, narrowingly missing his nose, but honestly, he couldn't even blame him.

It was his fault after all, _all of it._

\----------

  
  


James was buried in the vast garden of their old house in London, beneath the weeping willow where they had spent so much time curled on a blanket together during the summer.

It was quiet, the river gently flowing, almost silent, and Mycroft hoped the other would have been content with his resting place.

It was when he was lying in the grass, not caring whether or not his three-piece suit was stained, that he realised just how alone he was.

Sherlock, the brother he had loved so dearly and tried to protect his whole life, even going as far as to bent the laws of physics to get a chance to save him, was dead, murdered.

Jim, the boy he had practically raised, the man he had loved, the criminal he had hated, Jim, the one that had killed his brother, was also dead.

His parents didn't want to speak with him anymore due to his role in Sherlock's death, John Watson had never been his friend and he had made sure to show how much he hated him, while Anthea, the last person he was somewhat close to, was only his assistant and didn't know anything of what had truly happened.

Mycroft was alone with the goldfishes, but unlike them, he couldn't breath underwater and he didn't have the energy to swim to the surface anymore, so he simply let himself drift towards the abyss, drowning in sorrow.

  
  


\----------

  
  


After the two men had been buried, his first stop had been Sherrinford, he held no love for his sister but she did deserve to know about her adored brother.

His helicopter landed and he answered the Governor's greeting in a daze, the different hallways blurring into each other until he was there, standing in front of the glass panels.

"They are dead." were the only words he could muster.

"They?" and that simple question was the irrefutable proof that Eurus did have feelings.

She was smart after all, wickedly smart the only reason for her inquiry was that she didn't want to believe what she could guess.

"Sherlock. James."

His sister stood still, immovable, before ultimately sitting down, her eyes completely blank.

Mycroft didn't wait for her reaction, he knew he wouldn't get one anyway, he simply turned around and left.

Eurus refused to talk after that, refused to even touch her treasured violin.

For all intents and purposes, she was as dead as Sherlock was, and the older found himself the last of the Holmes siblings.

\---------- 

James Moriarty was dead. 

Somehow, even if he had seen it himself, it had taken Sebastian Moran months to accept that fact. 

He had still been hidden in that empty staircase, looking at Holmes dead body through his scope, when he had decided to look up in an effort to check on the criminal and had seen the Ice Man weeping over his motionless body, holding him close to his chest like a child. 

It had been strange to see the older man like that when he had always seemed so cold and collected all of the time, and slowly, the puzzle had pieced itself together.  _._

_M_

_ Of course.  _

_ M, Mycroft.  _

There was only one man that could have obsessed Jim that much after all, wasn't there? 

And the sniper had never been him. 

At first, he had still been certain that it was only a trick, that the criminal had simply drugged himself to have his revenge on his ex and that he wasn't really dead, but he had been forced at some point to realise that the other simply wouldn't come back, wouldn't barge in their flat with a wide grin and a 'did you miss me'. 

Going through the other man's things was possibly the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life. 

Everything had stayed untouched, like frozen in time, his clothes carefully hanging in their dressing, his tinkered computer lying on the table and his various mathematical experiments littering the ground of their room, so he had somehow still felt like Jim might scold him if he touched anything while knowing he wouldn't. 

Not anymore. 

There had been no letters, no guiding words, no heartfelt apologies, but he found the criminal's last project, the one that had kept him awake for so many nights. 

_Kismet_. 

And then, on the post it lying next to it,  _ 'for Mycroft.' _

Who was he to refuse Jim's last will? 

Sebastian Moran was a smart man, and Mycroft Holmes was a rather broken one, so sneaking inside his house was surprisingly easy and he had no trouble leaving the notebook in his study. 

While he was strolling inside like he owned the place, the other was sitting under some old weeping willow, seemingly lost in his thoughts. 

Once the older and only Holmes had gotten back inside, the sniper hadn't resisted his curiosity even if he knew his intrusion would be noticed soon, and had walked towards the tree. 

' _James Moriarty'_ said the name on the tombstone  _ '1976-2011' _ , and Sebastian ran away. 

\---------

One day, in the middle of the night, Mycroft found a notebook lying on his desk.

_ 'It was in his last will so I figured I should just drop it here.' _

  
  


It wasn't signed, but he could easily guess who it was from...

Sebastian Moran, aka the tiger, sniper, bodyguard, and most importantly, James Moriarty's lover for the past years.

For a second, he wondered how the other man had reacted to Jim's death, if he had screamed and destroyed their flat or in contrary sat among his possession waiting for his return. 

Where was he now? Was he leading the web? Keeping it from falling apart? 

Or was he lazing in one of their safehouses, drowning his sorrow in colourful cocktails? 

Mycroft had looked for him after the events on the rooftop, he wasn't quite sure why, maybe because he wanted to talk about the criminal, maybe because he still couldn't understand his actions, but he had looked and he had never found him anywhere. 

One day though, he found a flower wreath on James tombstone, chrysanthemums, the flowers of death for most of Europe, red for love, yellow for sorrow and white for loyalty, and ever since, the flowers had magically appeared on the day of his death anniversary. 

If Mycroft heard something in the middle of the night, if he saw a flicker of blonde hair through his window, if he noticed a man kneeling near the grave, he never said anything to his security team. 

  
  


\------------

…

…

…

Mycroft Holmes and James Moriarty left the rooftop together, hands in hands, and it was only when they reached the former's car that the criminal stilled, dark eyes meeting light green ones. 

"I'm afraid I can't follow you to the house, and I'm not entirely sure it would be a good idea for me to live with you. "

Mycroft frowned, feeling disappointment coil inside his chest, twirling around his ribs.

He understood why, but that didn't mean he liked it. 

"The security is good, you know that… "

Jim could enter easily but he was  _ Jim,  _ he had installed half of the security measures himself anyway. 

"I know, and I could make it better, but the British government and the Napoleon of crime living together 24/7 ? We would just be painting an enormous, flashy target on our backs darling, I somehow managed to stay alive until now so I would appreciate not getting killed by some mindless goldfish."

But there was something else, wasn't there? The older has heard the reports over the years, the genius sniper always staying at Moriarty's side, an extremely loyal and competent bodyguard… and Jim's lover. 

Still, he really had no right to argue after pushing away the criminal for so long, Jim wouldn't have fallen in his "tiger"'s arms if Mycroft had actually acted like a decent partner all these years ago. 

"Oh darling, don't look at me like that, we can have the weekends alright? I'll be away for the week most of the time, crimes aren't going to plan themselves after all, but now that I have you-" he grinned, getting closer to Mycroft and leaving featherlight kisses along his jaw "-I'm not going to let you go this easily you know? "

The older stayed silent before smiling back, knowing there was no use being petulant when he was finally getting what he had been wishing for all this time. It wasn't like Jim would willingly abandon his network, and Mycroft really had no right to take him away from his life work unless he gave up on his own position. 

"What about a holiday then? Just a week or two, traveling the world or staying somewhere as you prefer, to catch up. "

They had quite a lot to talk about, hadn't they? 

The criminal's eyes widened in only half exaggerated surprise. 

"A holiday? You, going on a holiday? "

His question was understandable when one knew Mycroft Holmes. 

"Well, considering the years I spent in the government-" the years he spent  _ being  _ the government "I am quite sure no one will object to me taking two weeks off. "

Jim chuckled, light and amused, his dark eyes glinting softly, and the image hit Mycroft so hard that for an instant he forgot how to breathe. 

It was Jim, his Jim, the man he remembered from before all this fiasco, and of course it was, of course the criminal was still himself, but somehow he had seemed to change so much that Mycroft hadn't thought he would ever truly see that sight again. 

His smile wasn't a sharp right now, wasn't a reminder of the pain that came and a promise of the pain to come, his eyes weren't swallowing the entire world in their inky abyss or inhibited by some hellish fire, and his hand was warm in his, soft and relaxed. 

It was the Jim he had thought lost forever in the void of his mistakes, the Jim from his past, smiling at him, happy and elated, not like everything  _ was  _ alright, but like it would be. 

"Two weeks then? Should I tell you when I'll be free ? " the criminal finally breathed out, the second question gaining a teasing edge. 

"Do let me know beforehand yes, if I leave without saying anything I'm afraid the prime minister would have a stroke. "

Well, maybe the man would survive his absence but he would certainly panic if he went to Mycroft's office for counsel and found it empty. 

"I guess I'll message you later then… " the criminal trailed off, shaking his head as I'd he was just thinking of something "You know, with my phone, like a normal 21st century man? Next time you want to send me a message, don't be dramatically vague and just say what you want to say alright."

Oh, the watch. 

Two gazes fell on the piece of jewelry tied around Jim's wrist at the same time. 

"It's yours by the way, it was your birthday present, it's really rude to return a gift you know? " the smaller sing sang as he took off the watch off his wrist to put it on Mycroft's, closing the latch with careful movements before huffing "Where were your manners Mycroft Holmes? I really should talk with your parents, that was simply dreadful. "

Considering what his flair for drama had almost caused, he would certainly be more direct in the future. 

Still, Jim was fine,  _ they _ would be fine, there was nothing to worry about. 

"I'm sure something could be arranged… " Mycroft said only half-jokingly, actually considering the other's words. 

Why wouldn't he present Jim to his family now? Eurus and Sherlock were already aware so there were only his parents to talk to and he was sure the two would be overjoyed. 

"Mother was very impressed with the letter you sent her, I'm sure she would love to debate about mathematics if you let her… I would avoid mentioning time travel if I were you though, unless you want to spend days discussing the theory behind your work."

Jim's eyes shone and Mycroft didn't doubt for one second that the one would, in fact, love to explain his masterpiece. 

"Anyway darling, I'll message you in a few hours with the dates, say hi to Sherly for me will you?"

Jim grabbed the front of his coat, drawing him into a last, passionate kiss before twirling on his feet, looking for a few seconds at the building facing St Bart's before walking away. 

There wasn't a good-bye, a good-bye would sound too final somehow, so neither men uttered the word even as the distance between them stretched, even as Mycroft himself turned around and entered his car, even as they drove away in opposite directions. 

There wasn't a good-bye, there was only the whiff of a ' _ catch you later'  _ whirling in the wind before landing on their lips, silent and yet deafening nonetheless. 

\----------

Sebastian was supposed to watch Watson, he knew that, but he also knew that Sherlock had just left St Bart's unscathed and he really didn't know what he was supposed to be doing right now… And so he looked up. 

It took him a second to understand just what he was seeing through the scope, but when he did he froze, the sight of Jim kissing Mycroft Holmes carved in his brain. 

_ What- _

And then it hit, then he understood, and wasn't it just obvious?

M, Mycroft. 

So that was who the other loved so desperately, that was who all this was for. 

The other Holmes, the  _ smarter  _ Holmes as Jim called him, the Ice Man. 

It hurt. 

Sebastian had already been half convinced that whatever was between them couldn't and would never be love, but he had also thought that it was simply because Jim couldn't truly feel that way for anyone, and it _hurt._

Maybe it wasn't even love, maybe the criminal was just using Holmes, but if that was the case, how was he supposed to know Jim wasn't using him either? 

After all, what better way to make someone completely loyal that to muzzle them with their feelings, use their heart as a leash? 

The worst part of it all was that he couldn't even find it in himself to care about Jim's motives. 

So what? 

Maybe the other man just saw him as the perfect bodyguard, but that didn't change the fact that Jim was the only person in Sebastian's life, the perfect mixture of danger and adrenaline, the man that had taken him out of his gutter and showed him the world, given him the life he had always dreamed of. 

Jim might not love him back but Sebastian would be happy just to stay at his side as long as he was happy and healthy even if he found that happiness in someone else's arms. 

He saw them leave the rooftop at some point, hands in hands like some high-school sweethearts, leaning towards each other as if they were pulled by magnets, as if they craved to touch even now. 

They disappeared for a minute, probably walking down the stairs, and reappeared together as they left the hospital, walking towards a nondescript black car. 

Oh, Sebastian wouldn't be needed apparently… 

They talked for what seemed to he an eternity, they kissed, again-

And then Jim turned towards the sniper's hiding spot, looked right at him and  _ winked.  _

It took him a second to understand what had just happened and when he did, the criminal was already skipping merrily towards their car, Holmes entering his own and driving away before Sebastian had the time to completely comprehend the situation. 

Still, even if he wasn't in the army anymore, the instincts, the adaptability, had stickied. 

The plan hadn't changed apparently, Jim was still going back with him, so Sebastian would do what he had been told and ask questions later… Or now. 

Now was as good a time as any. 

"Did it go well? " he asked the criminal once they were both in the car, not even expecting an answer. 

Still, the other grinned, lighthearted and relaxed, something akin to peace replacing the manic energy that had filled him these last few days. 

"It did, a lot better than expected actually. "

What, he hadn't thought he would make out with Mycroft Holmes beforehand? 

Jim seemed to hear the unvoiced question and he smirked, ignoring the traffic and the fact that Sebastian was currently driving to lean towards the sniper. 

"What, jealous tiger? "

"..."  _ Yes  _ "I can't be jealous of Mycroft Holmes, I have no idea what the history between you two is like but I know it hasn't always been rosy."

He knew it, he remembered clearly the look on Jim's face when he had received those messages signed with a M, but that didn't mean he could completely quell the fire blazing in his chest. 

"Awww don't be darling, we've been through a lot together too haven't we? And you're the idiot that asked for me when I told you you could get anything in the world, you're stuck with me now, Mycroft isn't going to change that. "

He wasn't? It wasn't what the sniper had understood ever since they had settled back in London, Jim had made his obsession for the two Holmes, and mostly the older, quite clear...

If the criminal could see the questions flashing in his eyes he didn't bother answering them, simply smiling slightly, without sharp edges, without that mania he had worn like a cloak previously. 

"I told you everything would be fine, didn't I? " a pause, a sharp intake of breath, and Sebastian found himself grinning back. "Anyway, we're going on a holiday in a few weeks, I guess you should know. "

"You and Holmes? " 

Jim looked at him like he was stupid, arching an elegant eyebrow. 

"You're coming with me doofus. "

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all liked this ~

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you will like this! :)  
> If you have any comment/question, make sure to leave a review!


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